


Joy in Small Places

by moor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 34,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Order were beside themselves at being unable to locate him, since his ‘defection’ to the Dark Lord at Dumbledore’s passing at the end of the previous school year. But Dumbledore’s orders had been clear: maintain his cover at all costs. The Order would need to find a way to reach him, if they required him.</p><p>But by the gods, he prayed this wasn’t it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disappointed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: HP and its respective characters are copyright JKR and all official rightsholders. I’m just a fan of the books.
> 
> AN: This story is AU effective the end of the Trio’s sixth year (following Dumbledore’s passing). Written primarily during NaNo 2011 & 2012, and heavily influenced/inspired by David Usher’s “Joy in Small Places” (found on YouTube, if you haven’t heard it before & are curious). This was my first HP-fic – concrit greatly appreciated. This story is written almost in its entirety and will be edited and updated… let’s go with ‘monthly’ for now. I've listed the 'Underage' tag on this, in case readers live in an area where 18 is not the legal age of consent.

**At night.**

Severus Snape’s footsteps halted immediately upon sight of the slumped figure pooled awkwardly on the floor before him. The current compound was completely untraceable—apart from his repeating portkey, even he couldn’t have given away its location. The Order were beside themselves at being unable to locate him, since his ‘defection’ to the Dark Lord at Dumbledore’s passing at the end of the previous school year. But Dumbledore’s orders had been clear: maintain his cover at all costs. The Order would need to find a way to reach him, if they required him.

But by the gods, he prayed this wasn’t it.

“What is the meaning of this?”

His cold, emotionless words were very even and dropped silver-smooth into the darkness of the echoing dungeon cell. The ancient stone walls cast his words back at him, and the hints of accusation did not escape his notice. He hated surprises, and this was something he had hoped to never, ever see.

The body on the frigid, wet ground showed no evidence of having heard him. It was not even shivering, despite how agonizing the cold, slippery stones must feel on its nearly naked skin.  He was not even sure it was breathing any longer.

She could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen. And the bruises were obvious even in the low light, due to the brilliant paleness of the once healthy, soft skin.

He schooled his expression into one of distaste as he viewed it critically while the other Death Eater spoke.

“The Dark Lord thought you may enjoy yourself for the evening with a reward, sir.”

“If this is the reward, thank the heavens I didn’t displease him. It doesn’t look like it’s good for anything anymore,” he sneered, and nudged it with the toe of his heavy black boot. A faint exhale, just barely. But obviously the poor thing was too far gone to even protest properly. Disgust rolled through him on an ugly tide, dredging up old memories and emotions. They blended mindlessly together as they crashed down. But he had to keep his wits about him, and the Potions Master grounded himself and forced himself to pay attention to what the other man said.

“What with how awful you’ve mentioned your students are, the Dark Lord thought you would appreciate being able to teach one her proper place. And this one’s a Mudblood—the worst of the lot,” the other man spat on the still figure.

It took every ounce of self-control Severus had not to lash out at the man with an Unforgivable the moment the hated word left his lips.

“For how long? Do I return her for an exchange in the morning? If she makes it that far?” he found himself asking instead, his mind grimly working out what his options were given her pitiful state.

“Yours to keep; but he said you would be cleaning up if there was more mess than usual.”

“Of course.”

He waited a moment.

To the other man’s horror, Snape’s eyes seemed to turn warm, and he shook out his shoulders to stave off the uneasiness that had settled there.

As placid as ever, Snape gazed down at her, trying to assess her condition. His ‘colleague’ just barely registered on his periphery as he mentally tallied her wounds and their likely causes. When he kneeled down beside her, he heard the other man’s shoes scuff wetly as he took a cautionary step back.

Probably thinks I’m going to shag her corpse, re-animate her, kill her once more, then shag her again, mused Snape, and he made sure he did nothing to change the man’s opinion an iota. The more disturbed the other man was, the less likely he was to return or investigate.

“Is there anything else?” Severus drawled, looking at the other man for the first time. His eyes pinned him, making the lesser Death Eater squirm.

“No.”

“Then you’re free to return to your duties. Please let the Dark Lord know I fully appreciate my gift and will be expressing it to him personally as soon as I’m finished with it.” He looked down thoughtfully once more. “It may be a while,” he said softly.

The door shut, closing Severus in with his former student.

He cast a silencing spell for privacy and reached out gently to push aside a lock of curly, brown hair.

“Granger, I had thought you weren’t as stupid as the others,” he said quietly, his velvet voice too controlled to show concern.

* * *

AN: To be continued.  
  
AN2: Happy Birthday, Severus Snape (Jan 9).

 


	2. Imbalance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching one's balance takes time

He gave her Death Eater robes to wear, her first day.

Made her shower daily, and eat.

On the first night, he made her calming draught for her nightmares.

On the first morning, he made her come to his breakfast, if only to ensure that no one would sneak into his rooms to finish her off while he was away.

After a week of interrupted sleep due to her scream-inducing nightmares, he picked her up and carried her to his bed until her trembling calmed and she drifted off to sleep.

This continued nightly until one evening she just walked straight from the bathroom, in her pyjamas—one of his worn shirts and some old boxers—into his bedroom to slip under his covers and wait for him. Resigned, he climbed in after her and put his arm over her waist protectively, as he had every night.

Strangely, he found he slept better with her beside him, too.

* * *

 

 

There was a small problem of some importance and embarrassment, about two weeks later.

Huffing in irritation, he knocked patiently on the door to the bathroom—again—and tried to get her to come out.

“If you would come out, we can resolve this,” he tried not to growl.

Her reply was quite impolite.

“Oh for heaven’s sakes,” he snapped, and kicked open the door. Inside, he found her wrapped up in a towel, huddled in the shower, her still-wet hair long and plastered against the bare skin of her neck, shoulders and back. Her cheeks were burning and so was her glare.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

She shook her head vehemently, and prepared to curse him again, he was sure—so he cast a _silencio_ spell upon her pre-emptively.

Her glare burned a hundredfold more viciously.

He was fine with that, and raised an eyebrow at her, flicking his wand up to indicate she really should stand up and just get this over with.

Hermione’s fists were as tight and hard as bezoars when she finally stood, and he noticed she was trembling in shame that he saw her this way.

Refusing to sigh, he focused on her belly.

She fidgeted in place, and truly, he could not blame her. His experience as a Head of House had given him some direction in how to handle such situations, but the circumstances then compared to now were diametrically opposed in many ways, so he would just have to go with his best guess on how to fix their current arrangement.

“Obviously, they aren’t teaching you everything in your health classes, or you would have probably done this spell to yourself ages ago,” he drawled. Then, more sensitively, “It won’t hurt—and it will stop your menses indefinitely, until you restore them again. I will show you the spell to reverse this charm, obviously, so you have full control over it. It was developed by an Auror for when their agents would impersonate others undercover. It is perfectly safe—now stay still and for Merlin’s sake, don’t hit me while I do this.”

A few minutes later he removed the silencing spell and sent her to bathe again and assured her she would not feel any further discomfort; he left his rooms entirely to give her privacy, and when he returned that evening, it was to find his entire suite of rooms had been cleaned top to bottom, all the linens freshened, and all his loose books returned to their proper places on the shelves (apart from the ones he’d been actively reading—she had placed bookmarks in them and stacked them neatly on his desk).

Considering he did not let the house-elves into his private living space, and he had so little time to do his own cleaning, it had been a fairly large undertaking and he was grateful to no longer be living in a sty.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he remarked upon seeing her, more a statement than a question, and continued looking around. “I don’t remember the last times these rooms looked so thoroughly _scourgified_ ,” he added with some incredulity. She had been busy.

“You’re out of bleach,” she said a bit awkwardly, and then took a breath and jumped back into the conversation, “If you could pick up some more, I can do the lab.”

He watched her a moment, but she did not fidget any longer and seemed far more relaxed than she had that morning.  Her eyes were not shifty and she did not look away. He sensed no intention to plot behind her large, innocent eyes.

“Hm,” he said non-committally.

* * *

 

The Dark Lord had summoned him.

Hermione had seen the flash of pain across his face before he had hidden it from her, tucking his arm into his robe; and though he had acted like all was well, she could read a hint of anxiety in the set of his shoulders for a moment before he had put on his usual impenetrable persona of ‘Snape’.

She wondered what had made him so anxious, but decided it would not do to dwell on what could be. Instead, she went straight for the small cache of deadly potions she had managed to concoct from the everyday chemicals she found through his—their—rooms, and double-checked her emergency escape bag. If something happened to him, she was ready to fight her way out or die trying.

It was three long days that she was left alone before she saw him again.

* * *

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I admit, I am not editing this story too thoroughly. If you see any mistakes, please let me know in the comments. I am happy to fix them so they irritate you less. :)


	3. Opened

He had slumped to the ground as soon as he saw Granger recognise him on the other side of the doorway. He had not had the strength to make it any further. He did not feel the floor rushing up to meet him. It was just blessedly, peacefully black.

She must have bathed him and changed his clothes; he awoke in his—their—bed some time later (almost forty hours, he thought he heard her say when he asked, but that must have been wrong), and she had food for him. He wondered briefly if she had poisoned it, but then dismissed the thought. If she’d wanted him dead, he had presented himself to her fully incapable of defence a day (or three) ago, and she had not taken the opportunity. There was no point in offing him now if she had wasted that chance.

Still a bit delirious (he would realise only later), he looked at her blearily and mumbled, “You could have killed me, finally been free to escape.”

She merely raised a brow at his chastising (who had she learned that supercilious expression from, he wondered), and replied, “You still haven’t taught me the counter-spell. Sir,” she absently tacked on the last at the end, for courtesy’s sake.

Their eyes met for a moment before he snorted and turned away.

* * *

 

When he was able to walk again, he stubbornly went for his travelling cloak and pulled out a shrunken box from one of the inside pockets. With a tap of his wand—she had made sure it was within his reach at all times, the considerate, paranoid, smart girl—he expanded the small box until it was a slightly larger one, about the side of a jewellery box.

He passed it to her without a word.

When she refused to open it, he growled out an order to do so immediately, it would not bite—unless he cursed it, which he threatened he just might do, so she removed the top straightaway.

She did not understand.

It was plain as day on her face.

Her muggle upbringing and associations were perverting what he had thought would be obvious to another wizard or witch.

“Put them on,” he snapped, tired and already half-regretting his efforts. And stop looking like that, he wanted to add.

She looked up at him blankly, some emotion behind her eyes that he could not understand or name.

Cursing under his breath, he strode over and removed the bracelet, necklace, and ring from the box, sliding each into place on her; she felt them magically adjust to fit her. (And would later find them impossible to remove, when she tried to undress for her shower).

“What…” she couldn’t find the words, and looked up at him in question again.

He eyed them on her critically before stepping back, somewhat relieved or satisfied, she couldn’t tell which. They had lived together in his rooms for almost two months now, and she was far better at reading him than before—but that still was not saying much, considering his formidable Occlumency skills, among other personal traits.

“These are not romantic gifts,” he explained and for once there was no sneer in his tone with regards to that particular topic. “These are for your own protection. Together, they will allow you to travel through the wards so you can navigate through the building, whether with me or on your own.” Her eyes widened in alarm, and he shook his head. “Usually, you will be with me. But if we are in the lab and I am summoned, or if you must make you way through for some other reason, they will allow you to travel unhindered, without summoning a league of Death Eaters as if you were an intruder. Next, they will connect us, in a way: if you are hurt, or if something happens—in case of emergencies, shall we say—they will alert me, and I’ll be able to apparate to you. Perhaps not immediately, depending on the situation, but I will as soon as I can.”

Her face was tight and pale, and she nodded gravely in understanding.

He nodded once curtly and continued.

“Finally, they will also protect you from curses, hexes, and in general most forms of physical harm. It isn’t foolproof—it can’t protect you from an Unforgivable, for example, or from someone who truly means to kill you, but you will have a shield of sorts, at least temporarily, should you need it.”

She swallowed and looked down at the ring on her finger.

“You’re going away again, aren’t you? For some time?”

There was no point in lying to her.

“Several weeks.”

“I can’t come with you?” she asked without thinking. The three days he had been gone before had been filled with nightmares and fear and only her own horrific imagination for company. She was not looking forward to becoming her own worst enemy again.

“You wish to become a Death Eater, Granger?” he asked harshly, his gaze narrowing.

She shook her head, her long hair falling forward to hide her burning face. No, she could not stomach that. Her hair was so long it weighed down the curls now to waves that passed her chest and fell most of the way down her back. She needed a haircut desperately, it had become so long since she had been trapped there; but he never left scissors or knives out around her. She was sure it was because he would never forgive himself if he found her dead by her own hand when he could have prevented it.

She would have been right.

“You’re coming back, though? It isn’t… too… dangerous?”

She followed him into his—their—bedroom and slipped under his covers, waiting for him. He turned his back to her and undid his shirt, undid his belt, undid the buttons and zipper to his trousers before shedding them all and coming to bed, and she made a bit more room for him.

She felt as much saw his shrug of indifference, answering her question. Of course it was dangerous, but when wasn’t it, really?

As usual, she was cold and hesitantly slipped her feet up to his legs—he trapped them between both of his, refusing to shudder at just how freezing cold her feet really were (were all young women like this, he wondered, all soft skin and frigid feet?...).  

“You’re welcome to wear socks to bed,” he remarked sardonically. “In fact, with me going away for a bit, I’d recommend it.”

“This is faster,” she mumbled to her pillow.

He hmph’d, and closed his eyes.

“When do you leave?”

“The day after tomorrow,” he replied tiredly. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

She mumbled something into her pillow, and he opened one eye to glance at her.

“Hmm? Didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing.”

He doubted that, but she did not elaborate and he closed his eyes again, settling in.

“Er, more razor blades, actually,” she added a moment later, somewhat embarrassed.

“Razor blades?...” Why would she need—visions of her opening her wrists up immediately assaulted him, and he just barely held himself neutral—the urge to leap up in bed, grab her by the shoulders and shake sense into her had nearly overwhelmed him for a heartbeat or two, and he only now felt that heartbeat hammering in his chest, against his ribcage and all his insides, it was so strong. She had not shown any signs of suicidal tendencies, but one could never be one hundred percent certain.

Sure that he would be able to discern if she were lying, though, and to stop his imagination running away from him, he opened one eye again once he calmed himself.

“Why would you need those?” he asked cautiously.

“For my legs, obviously!” she exclaimed, embarrassed, and it went unspoken, among other areas.

Oh. Right. He had not considered that, though he should have, he realised. She had only been sleeping beside him for months already, and he had thought to himself before how nice it was to accidentally slide their legs against each other in bed, hers being so soft and silky smooth…

He cut the inappropriate train of thought off immediately, startled at himself and the paths those ideas led to.

But if she was only asking now….

“What have you been using up until now, then?”

“Yours.”

There was a beat of awkward silence before he cleared his throat.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll nip out.”

“Thank you.”

He would get a whole damn box of safety razors. And he would charm them into not being able to cut her skin, yes, that’s exactly what he would do… Just in case.

“Anything else?” he dreaded the answer.

She paused.

“… underwear would be… convenient.”

Oh bloody Hell’s nine bells.

* * *

 

AN: To be continued

 


	4. Dismantled

**Chapter 4: Dismantled**

When he set out that morning to London and Diagon Alley, he found a note beneath his wand, and in careful feminine handwriting had been her measurements, bless her or curse her, for he had not been able to ask those details the night before. Or that morning. Or possibly ever. Head of House and her (former, now) teacher that he was, he was still a man and she was a young woman, and he was not about to open any can of worms that involved Hermione Granger's panties.

Forget the Dark Lord Voldemort, it was Granger who was truly going to be the death of him.

After a quick stop at a pharmacy for her first request, and then an even quicker stop at a ladies' store for her second (he'd passed the paper to an clerk and asked her to choose for him—and had completely ignored her when she had asked if he had any preference for sports-wear, comfort, style or cut, finally adding a scathing, "Whatever a young lady would like best, and be quick about it"—much to his later dismay), he found himself pausing outside a shop he had not deliberately meant to encounter, but found rather convenient. Perhaps too convenient.

Was he worrying too much, showing too much of his concern, if he were to enter and procure something from this particular shop, he wondered? Would it send the wrong message, or indicate he was worried he was not coming back, if he were to bring home a long, rectangular box with the familiar signature cover?

Or was he having premonitions again, and simply being practical?

Going on instinct, he pushed the door open and found the old man at the counter look up rather suddenly, openly suspicious.

"Can I help you?" the thin man behind the scarred counter asked coldly.

"Yes, unfortunately," the potions master replied, his hand already on his money pouch. "I believe you are familiar with a certain Hogwarts student witch who went missing some time ago? Prominent, Muggle-born, remorselessly precocious...?"

* * *

She had a book of Dark magic open on her lap and a cup of tea in her hand as he opened the door early that afternoon, and immediately placed both on the end table beside her to help him bring in his purchases.

"You've been busy," she took several of the proffered bags from him, moving them into the sitting room.

He held out another few bags for her, keeping several at his side, and went to drop his shoes at the rack at the side of the door.

"Most are for you," he explained in a pained voice. Really, when had women's undergarments become so ridiculously expensive? He was amazed they wore anything under their robes, if this was how much it cost. No wonder other men bought their lovers lingerie—it was obviously as much of an investment as jewellery.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione peeked into a bag and let out a girlish squeal.

His heart seized in his chest. Oh gods, had he bought the wrong stuff? Fuck it all, he was not going back to that awful place; he would just need to transfigure them into fitting if they were wrong.

"These are perfect, thank you!"

—And then he nearly had heart failure when she threw her arms around him in a spontaneous embrace.

"And so many! Oh, you got me some shirts and trousers, too! Thank you so much, Professor Snape!"

She was still holding on far too tight to be appropriate, and all the bouncing and jiggling were doing awful things to him, and it was far too hot, and really uncomfortable, and had she just called him 'Professor'? Oh sweet Merlin—

"Severus will do," he explained in a strained voice. "Now release me."

"Oh! Sorry, yes,… Severus. Thank you again," she beamed up at him.

After that display, he was a bit worried about how she would take the rest, but felt it better to get it all out of the way in one go.

"Here are your razors, as requested."

Another squeal, but at his glare she calmed and refrained from bouncing or throwing her arms around him again, thank the gods.

He passed her another few bags, pointing out other items that he thought she may need while he was away. More quills, ink, books, even some snacks and, much to her amusement, a bottle or two of Muggle soda pop, after hearing her mumbling complaints to herself a few mornings back. Even a hairbrush of her own, for which he nearly suffered another enthusiastic hug, much to his chagrin.

The long box in his robe burned against his side as he considered the last gift.

He knew she was not defenceless as she was—if she thought he had not noticed her growing inventory of poisons and assault potions, liquid hexes and fire-spray hidden away behind the bathroom cupboard, she was a sorry spy indeed. But he also knew his presence was what kept away the worst of any possible offenders who may seek to do her harm. With him leaving for an extended, continuous, period of time, there was no guarantee his position as her keeper would be enough to protect her. All it would take…

He pushed the thought away firmly, and that thought was all it took for him to take out the last item.

He took her hands in his, and looked at her meaningfully, placing the box in them and clasping them over the cover.

"I intend to come back," he said, already sensing the panic that had seeped into her at her realisation of what he had put in her hands. "And you can defend yourself quite well without me," he admitted wryly, "However I am not stupid, or trusting or naïve. You are a very capable witch. But you are not invincible. Do nothing stupid," he intoned severely, holding her gaze meaningfully. "I expect you to take care of yourself, Granger."

"Hermione," she said automatically, her eyes never leaving his.

He frowned in confusion.

"You said to call you Severus, so call me Hermione… We are… sort of sleeping together, after all," she said, just as dryly as he had earlier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bite her lip a bit nervously, but she stood her ground.

He was a little impressed with her audacity, truth be told, and felt the corner of his lips turn up slightly.

"Very well, Hermione. Promise me you will do nothing stupid with this."

"You have my word, Severus."

He would never admit that those five words made his stomach flutter as much as they made his heart relieved. Perhaps moreso.

Eyeing the wand she now held, she lifted it up and made a few experimental flicks in the air, the sparkles and showers of twinkling mist that spat from the tip, smiling more and more intently as she felt the magic in her respond immediately.

"It's a good fit then," he said, half-statement, half-question.

"Oh yes," she said throatily.

And there went his stomach again, tripping over itself for no reason at all.

"Well then, I'm going to have some tea. Don't hex me with your new toy," he said off-hand, and went to put the kettle on.

"Okay." She paused and watched him go, then her face lit up deviously.

"I'm going to try on my new underwear!" she exclaimed, and ran off with her bags rustling beside her.

Said kettle banged loudly on the stove, and he distinctly heard Hermione snicker from their room.

The woman did not need to use a wand to curse him, damn her.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As this is a shorter chapter, we'll have to see about arranging an extra update for you later this month, shall we?
> 
> To be continued


	5. Favours

**Chapter 5: Favours**

"Still enjoying your pet?" Lucius Malfoy asked softly as they waited inside a cold corridor for the rest of their fellow Death Eaters to appear.

"What enjoyment there is," Severus replied in disinterest. He never brought up the fact that he still kept Hermione alive and quite well in his private chambers, and few still raised the subject of her so he assumed they had either lost interest or presumed she was dead. He noticed Lucius watching him carefully from the corner of the blond man's eye, and knew to remain on guard. He was being observed for his reactions, and was always suspicious of others' motives, with good reason.

Lucius considered him thoughtfully and tested the waters.

"Thinking of casting her aside? If you're bored, Draco could take her off your hands, perhaps," he offered. While Severus didn't react outwardly, Lucius had known him long enough to read his silences, and knew he had his attention. He was probably smiling a Cheshire grin on the inside, Severus thought to himself darkly.

"In fact, the Dark Lord has mentioned that he was happy to offer Draco a reward of his choice after his recent success, and strangely enough, our great leader thought to mention your little arrangement as an example. It was just the other day, while you were locked up inside your rooms with her. You're hardly seen in the common areas anymore. Not that you ever were very social."

There was no death painful or slow or torturous enough that Severus could think of to inflict upon his Lord—or Malfoy, any Malfoy—in that moment.

"I was rarely seen in them before, if you recall. I spend most of my time making poisons in the lab. Having a capable assistant has been a boon to his Lordship."

"Hard to believe a Mudblood Gryffindor could help with the destruction of her own kind," said Malfoy, though his tone was almost cheerful. "Well done, I almost envy your ability to corrupt the innocent, Severus. No wonder you've kept her around so long. I'm amazed she hasn't broken yet."

It was a leading question, and he ignored it—mostly because he was of the same opinion, wondering how she was able to keep herself sane in spite of the things that she knew were happening around her.

"So other than as a poisons apprentice, any use for her?"

Severus would not hit him, he would not hit him, he would not hit him.

"Draco could use something to practice his hexes on."

So could Severus, at that very moment actually.

"I'm sure Draco is capable enough of finding someone other than my cast asides," he refused to say 'sloppy seconds' aloud. "A handsome, healthy young man has few difficulties in that area. Usually," he tacked on at the end.

He almost grinned at the murderous look Lucius shot him.

"But if he's having any problems, do let me know. Granger is capable enough of whipping something up for him," he could not resist adding. "And I wouldn't let her poison him, obviously."

She probably could, too, he thought reasonably. A bit of pride leaked through and brightened his mood, and he thought back on the number of times she truly had helped him in his lab—though in truth he would never let her help him with his Death Eater assignments. He would never let her touch those. That guilt was reserved for his shoulders only.

Sensing dangerous waters, he steered his thoughts away from her shoulders, or any other part of her.

"Experienced in such things already, is she?" Lucius inquired innocently, and Severus realised he had walked right into that one. (Not that he himself needed them. He had not taken a woman to bed in… a sad amount of time, he realised. Well, other than Hermione. But not in that sense of… It was probably best he steer away from this line of thought again.)

"She does the supplies for the revels," he explained honestly. "She actually tinkered with the formula a bit and managed to reduce some of the more uncomfortable side effects. A few members mentioned it recently."

Lucius stared at him for a second.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Warily, Severus glanced back. "About?"

"You really let her near your potions, your lab. Severus, she's a gods-be-damned member of the Order!" he spat incredulously. "What were you thinking?"

_That it was nice to have intelligent company._ Not that he was about to share that.

But honesty in this case was easy.

"She knows I monitor her every move. I test all her potions. She's a more than capable assistant—most potions she could do on her own now, if I let her. She has never tried to make a single step out of line—she knows exactly what would happen to her if she did," he finished evenly.

"You can't believe that. Not a single step? Severus, that's the mark of a spy, and not a very bright one. Anyone in her position would have at least tried to escape by now," reasoned Lucius suspiciously. "There's more going on."

Severus tended to agree, and was not sure himself why Hermione always waited for him back in his rooms.

But he shook his head slightly.

"She is scared to leave. She believes that if she were to return to the Order, that no one would trust her after being away for so long, held captive by a Death Eater. And she's right, they wouldn't." He knew that personally. "Better the devil you know, I suppose."

"Going soft?" sneered Lucius mildly.

A part of him answered heartily in the negative, and he shoved it down where it belonged.

"Rather practical. If she can brew in my absence, then I am able to do more work in the field without our potions stores running low." He glanced over at Lucius and wondered a moment. "You aren't usually so interested in my personal life, Lucius. Have I become so fascinating?" He asked, and tried for levity to redirect the conversation away from Hermione.

Lucius regarded him a moment, letting the sneer fade and his haughtiness relax slightly. They had known each other for so long, facades were more of a formality than anything else, and they tended to fall after a time arguing together.

"Draco asked, actually. There are so few Death Eaters his age, formally appointed, anyway. He said he was concerned she was a spy; I think he's actually…" his words drifted off, and Severus thought he may have actually heard a hint of concern in the senior Malfoy's tone.

He was worried about his son, Severus realised. Draco was in too deep, and he is worried his son is going to break.

"… he has no one to talk to," Severus quietly surmised.

"I'm sure he'll be perfectly adjusted after some time, but since he left Hogwarts he's become quite withdrawn. If he at least had someone to argue with that he wasn't worried would kill him for impertinence, I'm sure he'd be fine," Lucius confessed, a hint of frustration in his tone. He was a terrible person, a Death Eater, a haughty aristocrat and a relentless, murderous man. But he was a father who was concerned for his son in spite of all that.

Severus thought it over.

"I can't guarantee that she won't find some way to kill him, if he truly upsets her," the potions master admitted with dry amusement, and noticed Lucius's eyes spark with equal humour and understanding. "However, I'll send an invitation to Draco to join us some evening when we get back. A bit of companionship from a peer would do him well."

Lucius nodded, and nothing further was said.

* * *

Granger— _Hermione_ , he corrected himself—Hermione glared at him upon his return. She even had her hands on her hips.

She was also wearing her new underwear, if her wonderfully abundant shape was anything to go by, he thought, and swallowed before looking away and bypassing her to their— _his!_  he reminded himself—bedroom. And she had done something with her hair. Potions, he reminded himself firmly. She had been bored. She had needed things to do. With herself. Like… look… nice.

A little disoriented by her more womanly appearance, he pretended he had not heard her. The distance apart had left him looking forward to his return to the mansion, for the first time. He was distracted again when she folded her arms across her chest, her new clothing suiting her very much, to his chagrin. His mouth went dry for a moment, further impairing his speech.

She was having none of that.

"What's this about us having a Malfoy over for tea?"

_Oh. So she'd heard about that, had she?_ He winced internally. He had assumed she would like to have someone new to talk to, too.  _Bit of a misfire_ , he realised.

"It's the younger, not the senior, your former classmate," he clarified.

"That doesn't make it better," she grit out between her teeth, and followed him to stand at the doorway to their room. She did not enter—she allowed him his privacy—but it was a near thing in this case with her temper so near the surface.

Honestly, he could not remember her showing much temper at all since she arrived at the Dark Lord's most recent lair, broken and bloody.

Perhaps she had gotten a bit overconfident and uppity since acquiring her new wand (and undergarments), he mused.

"I thought you'd like to have a visitor. You only ever get to see my ugly face," he countered. "Most young ladies would be grateful to have a handsome young man over for tea."

"You haven't tried to kill me!"

"Recently."

"Er, recently, right," she amended, and he heard her resolve weaken.

"And neither has Draco," he called through the closed door, baiting her, trying to get her to relent.

"Only because you've kept him and everyone else away from me—this is the safest I've been in years!" she flung back.

Hmm. She had a point there. Perhaps that was why she had not made any attempts to return to Hogwarts…

"It's just tea," he explained. "Please, Hermione. Look at it this way: you get a chance to speak to someone your own age for a change, about normal topics, about things people your age are interested in, about, I don't know… hair potions!" he wanted to fling out his arms in exasperation but was too tired.

Changed now into more comfortable, clean, clothes, he made his way back to the door and stepped out, coming face to face with a confused, uncertain young woman.

Something had changed.

Something fundamental had changed, something he had just said had just tilted a table he had not realised they had been balancing on, and now they were each on opposite sides of it now that it had fallen.

And he had no idea what the table was about.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked, exhausted. He had just come back after weeks away, and the first thing they did was argue. It had not been the homecoming he had been hoping for. He was unsure exactly what kind of homecoming he had been expecting, he told himself firmly, but this… was not it.

She looked up into his dark, dark eyes, her face blank of every emotion, even the ones he could not identify.

She shook her head and slipped past him, mumbling, "Nothing," and then continued past his—their—room.

She went into her own room and shut the door behind her.

She slept there for the first time since she had moved to his room months ago. Going by the scent of his pillow, she had still stayed in histheir room, in histheir bed, while he had been absent.

And now he slept alone.

He told himself he did not miss her frigid feet or tangled hair or soft, smooth skin, even a single bit.

(But really, was this the cost of a cup of tea? Lucius owed him dearly for it, if so.)

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To be continued.


	6. Retribution

**Chapter 6: Retribution**

Hermione was normally a very thoughtful, peaceful individual around him. He had admired her resilience in the past months; her perseverance and trying to find ways of making herself useful so as not to annoy him, her showing incredible resourcefulness and intelligence when she had accompanied him to his labs. These demonstrated a strength of will and determination he fully respected.

So when he caught her trying to slip cyanide into the sugar dish prior to Draco stopping by for tea, he was a little taken aback.

"You are acting like a child," he admonished patiently.  _A child with cyanide_ , a part of him reminded himself dryly.

"He deserves it," she grumbled, but did not fight him when he dumped the sugar out and scourgified the container several times.

He watched her carefully a moment.

Then he dumped out the tea as well.

"Oh, come on!" she protested.

"What else have you laced with poison, Hermione? And were you planning on offing us, too?"

"Our cookies had the antidote in them," she sulked.

"Oh, for the love of—!" He really did throw up his hands in frustration this time. "Hermione, this is ridiculous! What could Draco have possibly done to you that warrants—"

She stilled; then went nearly purple in the face.

"He's the one who kidnapped me!" she burst out, tears of anger filling her eyes. "It's because of him that I'm here! He tricked me into thinking he was scared of becoming a Death Eater, that he wanted to talk to the Order and asked for my help, and then he drugged me and took me to the rest of your Death Eater friends, and then they, then they, they…"

They had never spoken about the details of what had happened to her, he realised.

Now it was painfully too late.

The tears streamed down her face onto his shirtfront as he instinctively pulled her close to him.

"Shhh," he murmured into her hair as she wept bitterly. Her small hands fisted in his shirt and she trembled uncontrollably.

"I hate him, I hate him so much," she gasped, even as he gently rubbed his hands up and down her back to console her.

He, Severus Snape, was a spectacular, inconceivable, insensitive idiot, he realised. He thought himself fairly intelligent, and yet in this, he had failed immaculately.

_Lucius had known._

Of course he had known. Lucius had been looking for a way to hurt him, and had hurt him by tormenting Hermione. Bloody brilliant bastard.

Why send Draco, though, he wondered. To see how they would react? To provoke them into attacking the boy, so as to lose favour with the Dark Lord? He was not sure.

There was only one way to find out.

Her trembling had lessened and her sobs had run out, and she remained in his arms clutching at him for support.

He hated to ask this next, but there was no way they could proceed without being able to communicate.

"I had no idea, Hermione, I'm sorry," he said softly. Resting his chin on top of her head, he closed his eyes. This wasn't going to be pretty. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, especially now, but… when you were abducted, did Draco…" he searched for a delicate way to ask that hopefully wouldn't trigger her again.

She tensed up immediately, and he cursed himself again. Especially when he felt her shaky nod against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.

"Never mind, I'm sorry," he apologised. "None of my business."

"No, it's… It's not you, it's just… I… I should have…" she stuttered and stumbled, and then the shaking began again and he held her closer, mentally begging her to stop remembering. "I'm not really… ready… to t-talk about it, yet," the words stumbled out, and behind them he recognised a thick wall of shame.

Inside, deep inside, something in Severus thinned and snapped. When the time came, he would cheerfully kill them both. Lucius and Draco. Slowly, agonizingly slowly. Creatively. And dreadfully, dreadfully patiently. Nothing was too good for what they had done to his—to Hermione.

"I'll cancel the visit," he said, starting to pull away. "It was a stupid idea."

"No!" she cried, surprising him. "Don't! They'll think they still… They'll think I'm still afraid of them—or that I don't think you can protect me from them. If they think that, they won't hold back, they'll come after me again! They'll come after you!"

Her fingernails dug into the skin of his arms painfully from her desperate grasp.

"Never again," she murmured to herself, "Never, ever again."

Severus was amazed at the changes in her: From the determined Hellion he had encountered the day before to this miserable wretch of a soul, all because of one young man. He wondered if he had ever mentally scarred someone the way Draco had scarred Hermione. Certainly, he terrified his students, but this was beyond intimidation. This was damaged.

"Hermione, if you aren't ready to—"

"I can do this. I can do tea."

"Yes, but can you do tea without poisoning, hexing, or otherwise debilitating our guest?"

She hesitated.

"… pretty sure, yes."

He was unconvinced; he looked at her askance, and she gave him a feeble smile. That famed, abominable Gryffindor courage was probably propping it up, but it made him wonder…

Her grip finally loosened and she settled against him once more, her ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat; to his surprise, her arms wrapped around him and gave him a light squeeze and she let out a sigh. Unconsciously he laid a hand on her back; he no longer rubbed it to calm her, just held her lightly, letting her know he still permitted the vague intimacy, at least for the moment. He had been a Head of House for a number of years, and he was not heartless. Sometimes all a person needed was a measure of human contact.

Not that he was complaining—perhaps he should have been, he would later think—but it was nice that she had calmed down.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked down at her; sensing he was watching her, she glanced up shyly.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"… you should maybe dispose of the cream, too?" she said off-hand.

He rolled his eyes.

_Of course._  "I'll do that."

In his arms, Hermione sighed but did not pull away.

* * *

He did not have time for this.

"It'll only take a minute—I need your help," she'd said. And like a fool he had followed her, a lamb to the slaughter.

It was the most dangerous minute of his life with her so far.

"What should I wear?" she demanded, laying out three outfits. She eyed them all critically. "I can transfigure them, I suppose, but I'm trying not to use much magic here, in case it alerts someone. Which one do you think would look best? Or, perhaps most appropriate?" She held up a sweater she had transfigured slightly already. "Does this look too low-cut?"

In that moment, Severus cursed himself for having disposed of her toxic tea.

* * *

In the end, she decided to wear something that she thought may make Draco uncomfortable.

Little did she know, it had the effect of making both the men in her midst uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable.

"Draco," she said coldly upon opening the door to his knock.

"Hermio…" his haughty voice trailed off as he became distracted. Very, very distracted.

"Eyes up here, Draco," she said in a saccharine voice. Before she slapped him upside his head when he still did not respond.

His eyes flew up, wide and taken completely by surprise, and he automatically brought a hand up to his now-red cheek. "You—!"

"Ah, I see our guest has arrived," Severus interrupted quickly. "Welcome, Draco, do come in and take off your shoes. Would you like some tea?"

His mouth still hanging open in shock, the blond boy turned to stare at his former potions professor. "Uncle Severus, did you see Hermione's—"

Severus shoved a small cake into his godson's mouth, to prevent his imminent demise by whatever means Hermione had available to her. And he did not doubt her resourcefulness.

"Have a seat, Draco," he growled in warning, putting a strong hand down on his shoulder and giving him a shove.

The young man turned to look at him incredulously, and swallowed the cake in his mouth.

"Does she normally dress like…" words failed the young Malfoy again, and Severus lamented the absence of Lucius' suave charm. It apparently had not translated down the line.

"She dresses herself, of course," Severus replied, feigning misunderstanding. Perhaps not usually so snugly, or with such a plunging neckline, but yes, she dressed herself well enough.

Both Draco's cheeks were now stained red, Severus noted with awkward pity. The poor boy had not been expecting this type of attack.

Not that Hermione relented, even an ounce.

She held the steaming teapot up and asked Draco for his cup. Gazing at her in bewilderment, she leaned forward with a smile—providing his a generous view of her cleavage—and poured it straight onto his lap. It took a full seven seconds before he noticed.

By the end of the afternoon, she had accidentally whacked him in the back of the head with a tray, made him choke when she leaned back to stretch, and given him a nosebleed when she had casually exclaimed that her bra was too tight and would they excuse her for a moment, please, she had to go change into something more comfortable.

When she stepped out of her room again she came face to face with Severus, his head in his hand as he leaned against the wall.

She smiled at him guilelessly.

"Yes?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "This is how you decided to torture him?"

She laughed aloud, and continued past, preparing to vanquish her foe in one of the only ways she could think of (that would not land Severus in a pile of C _ruciatus_ -afflicted trouble).

"Oh Draco! Sorry to keep you waiting. I decided to just put my pyjamas on early. What do you think? Do I look cold?..."

There was the sound of stumbling footsteps, and then a door being wildly opened and slammed shut.

And then the dark, satisfied chuckles of a young woman who had known exactly what she was doing (to at least one of the afflicted parties).

With a sigh Severus pushed himself up and away from the wall again in time to see her changing her clothes back into a casual t-shirt and jeans, the glamour fading subtly.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much," she said with a smile, and made her way over to him. "Thank you for going along with this, Severus." She rose up on her toes and surprised him by giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"My pleasure," he replied drolly. "Though I'm sorry I missed the ending."

"It was nothing special," she lied, turning away to tidy up the tea set.

He debated in his head a moment before curiosity got the better of him. "Care to share what was the big finale?"

She grinned sheepishly and blushed, looking away for a moment. "It was a bit cruel," she admitted.

"Really? I'm shocked, Granger."

"Hermione," she corrected, smiling.

He shrugged, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

She glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone was looking, before biting her lip and with a bit of wordless, wandless magic (she had been practicing in her room all morning—well, practising the words in her head and visualizing the intended results), she changed herself before his eyes.

And he burst out laughing.

"He wasn't expecting that, was he?" he said, and had to admit, it was a bit genius.

"He didn't even notice right away. His attention wasn't on my face, obviously, until I spoke up," she said, and her smirk belied her pride. "Thank you for showing me how to do this."

Shaking his head lightly, Severus fought a grin. "It doesn't last more than a minute or two, but it's enough. I bet poor Draco never imagined to see his mother standing in front of him looking like that."

"Yes, the poor, poor boy," she said without a trace of regret. For a second her appearance shimmered, and the illusion disappeared once more, to be replaced with her t-shirt and jeans again. Then a thought struck her. "You know, if he does come back again, I don't know how I'll be able to keep a straight face if his mother ever comes up in conversation. Draco obviously has issues."

"Hermione, I think anyone would have issues to see their mother tarted up the way you were," he said.

"I say we make this a weekly thing," she said serenely. Then she brightened. "Next time, I'll be his dad!"

"You're entirely too excited about this."

"Really, though, do you think we could get Lucius to join in, too? I think his expression would be priceless."

Severus had to agree, though not necessarily aloud.

"I've created a monster," he complained with some humour as they made their way towards the bedrooms that night. He paused when he reached his room and glanced over his shoulder at her in question. She waited just behind him, prepared to follow him in.

Confused, she looked at him, wondering why he stopped.

He turned back to the door and walked in, and sure enough, by the time he had come out of the bathroom she was tucked into his bed in his usual shirt and old boxers. She glanced up sleepily, and shimmied closer when he joined her under the blankets.

And nearly gasped when her feet snaked out to warm against his legs.

"Jesus fuck, woman, find a pair of socks!" he yelped indignantly.

"I've been cold! You've been gone for almost a month! I had to find and boil hot water bottles to stay warm all night when you weren't here."

"Why stop?!"

But he growled when she started to shift away, and figured  _in for a penny, in for a pound._

With that he reached out and dragged her closer against him, tugged her legs up around his hips and rubbed down her calves and ankles as best he could with his scarred and calloused hands. He did his best to ignore her gasp of surprise (or whatever it was) as their bodies met in the intimate contact—.

"We're getting you thermal long-johns the next time we go shopping," he muttered. "One of these days your selective nocturnal hypothermia will be contagious."

But until then, he did not mind the way she felt beneath his hands, soft and pliant and warming to his touch.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To be continued.


	7. Deliberate

**Chapter 7: Deliberate**

It had not been his most well-thought out move (or had it?).

And it led to a bit of discomfort the following morning. For him.

And it led to an awkward silence for a second (for him) as he realised the awkward situation he had landed himself in.

And he swallowed what might have been an awkward groan when she shifted on him, having apparently climbed atop him in her sleep in an effort to stay warm, though it felt suspiciously like  _cuddling_ , even if his lack of experience in that domain made him less than an expert.

Draco got off easy, he decided murderously, and tried to figure out how to get untangled from her koala grip so he could avail himself of the facilities.

After some deliberation he turned to his side to gently slide her off, she slid into a small ball, curled in on herself and grasping his pillow in her small, beautiful hands.

He was unsure how long he sat there watching her that morning, but it was long enough that he found himself rushing to the loo in a rather undignified fashion at the first sign of her stirring.

* * *

To their surprise, a return on their invitation arrived the following afternoon from the Malfoy family.

Or, rather, a select reciprocity.

"For you," Severus slipped the crème-coloured envelope of thick, rich paper onto 'her' part of the desk when he closed the door, after sending the cowering messenger off with a glare.

She looked up at him askance; his only reply was a quirked eyebrow before he made his way to the kitchenette for tea, promptly ignoring her.

"Draco has asked me over for tea."

"You'll have to clear your calendar."

She leaned forward to watch his reaction; his words had been toneless and she was not sure if he had been annoyed or amused. His posture gave nothing away as he stirred the cup before him on the counter, his back to her.

Unsure of what her—

She looked at Severus and wondered about how to qualify their situation. Relationship.

… _guardian_ , she decided finally, after some conflicting emotions she was not ready to examine…

-thought of the situation, she felt a bit lost. She looked back down at the invitation.

Opportunity?

Threat?

Olive branch?

What was the meaning behind the invitation—or was there one? Was she making too much of this?

Unsettled and confused, she pursed her lips and considered the fact that perhaps… it was just a simple social nicety, one teenager to another.

But she hated Draco, and he knew that.

She bit her lip.

So of course there was no point in accepting. It was stupid to risk putting herself in such a vulnerable position again.

And yet a part of her was just as desperate to leave the claustrophobic confines of Severus' rooms and lab, the only two places she had seen since her internment; even as she felt anxiety ratchet up a notch or three deep inside her at the possibility of leaving the safety of their confines. It had been months since she'd arrived, bloody and beaten, and despite the paper, quills, magazines and hair potions (of all things), nothing could varnish the fact that she was in protective custody in the best of terms.

With a sigh, Hermione realised she really just wanted to get out.

Freedom seemed a long way off, but if there was a chance, a choice…

Perhaps she could look at it as just a chance to explore other areas of the Dark Lord's compound? To at least get an idea of the lay of the land, and where she truly was?

From his place at the kitchenette, Severus watched her calmly, unbeknownst to her, waiting for her decision.

He withdrew to bed early that night without a word.

* * *

Severus arched an eyebrow at Hermione as she stood before him expectantly.

"Well?"

He watched her, wondering what she wanted, and was soon rewarded by an exasperated huff.

Oh good, she would be explaining herself any moment now, he mused.

"Aren't you coming with me?" she asked, and he noticed she actually looked a bit concerned beneath her usual armour of Gryffindor courage.

Then she folded her arms over her chest, and her distress morphed into self-consciousness.

It became quite clear to him, then. "You don't trust Draco? Then why did you accept the invitation?"

"Because I can't show fear in the face of the enemy," she snapped, and summoned his boots to him, waving at him. "Now chop-chop, I don't want to be late for tea." Her pinched expression clearly read, " _Like Hell I'm stepping through his door without having you with me."_

"Doesn't my presence somehow negate any respect Draco may hold for you personally?"

"No, your presence will improve my street cred and make him think twice about putting cyanide in the tea biscuits."

He looked at her, then, perturbed.

"I provide you with… 'street cred'…?" He asked awkwardly, confused.

Hermione blushed and tried to think of a non-muggle simile. "Uh… " She wracked her brain but after a few moments she couldn't come up with anything and made a frustrated sound in her throat, then looked at him pleadingly.

"Could you please just come scare the piss out of him so I can come back here alive when this stupid farce is over? Please, Severus?"

Oh.

And damn it all, she was being honest and her lovely eyes were open even wider than usual, and she was dressed nicely and comfortably, not like the Knockturn Alley trollop she had impersonated the other day, and he was sure she had used the hair potions again…

Walls slammed up, barring his thoughts from progressing any further.

But one thing was certain: Yes, he certainly did need to go with her to see Draco.

"Well why didn't you just say so?"

Her face lit up, and he had to turn away, using the excuse of tying on his boots while she hopped excitedly from foot to foot.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To be continued


	8. History

**Chapter 8: History**

Draco opened his door very quickly on her first knock, and burst through the door eagerly, his words already tumbling forth.

"You're here! Hermio—er, Grange—Severus?!"

"Indeed," the tall man swept past him, "Please excuse our intrusion."

Hermione swallowed her giggle as Draco's eyes boggled at their former teacher slipping past.

"Malfoy," she said civilly when he turned back to her. If she read his eyes right, he looked a bit disappointed.

Good.

"Please come in," he said, stepping back so she could pass.

"Do you mind if I help myself to tea?" Severus called from the sitting room, and Draco paled and rushed back, leaving Hermione in the hallways alone.

"Oh, I didn't realise you were coming, I'll go fetch a fresh pot! If you put that down—put it DOWN, NOW, _don't pour another drop!"_

"Why Draco, you're looking a bit tense—here, I've just poured you a cup, why don't you sit down and have a—"

"I insist!" There came a popping noise, and then Draco's voice was coming closer. "I'll be right back, it's terribly rude of me to leave Granger in the vestibule…"

There was a pause as Draco huffed before returning to Hermione, taking her elbow and gently but firmly bringing her to the sitting room.

Then he summoned a fresh pot of tea and snacks from the kitchens.

And cleared his throat.

"Thank you—both—for joining me today." He stopped, composed himself after his little vanishing act, and sat forward politely with his usual veneer of pretenses.

"Thank you for having us," replied Severus calmly, "But you didn't need to go to all the trouble of making fresh tea."

The younger man's ears burned, though his expression remained the same. "It was no trouble."

Hermione caught Severus' eye, then, and wasn't surprised to find him slightly amused.

"I invited Severus to enjoy your hospitality without asking you first; I apologise for the surprise, Malfoy. I didn't mean to poison the rendez-vous," she said sweetly, taking a sip of her tea.

Draco choked on the biscuit he'd bitten into.

"Mmm, this is fine tea," she remarked.

"Delicious," agreed Severus.

Draco looked like he was about to be ill.

"So what have you been up to?" she asked, genuinely curious.

_Other than plotting vengeance,_ her inner self added. _Poorly_.

"Death Eater business," he said immediately in his usual snide tone. "You wouldn't understand."

Severus remained seated where he was but his senses became suddenly alert at the change he could feel from Hermione, seated across on the other side of the settee from him.

"Oh?" she replied, and Severus' eyes never left her as she leaned forward, her empty tea cup held between her knees. "Try me. I'm curious."

"What could you possibly know about what happens here? You're cooped up in the lab or your rooms. I bet Severus shields you from any gruesome business."

She nodded a bit to herself, thinking over his words, before she slid her tea cup forward, and Draco automatically refilled it, as a good host.

"Do you think I don't know what it looks like, or means, to see a man come into his quarters soaked in blood?" she asked levelly.

And Hermione caught Draco's gaze with her own, and held it.

"Do you think I don't know what has happened to someone who's been beaten, raped, tortured, degraded, and left for dead?"

Draco realised the trap he had walked into, and a flush rose in his cheeks.

"Do you think that the Mudblood victim wouldn't remember who attacked her, who hurt her, what they looked like when they congratulated themselves as she lay there, unable to even breathe without bleeding?"

She raised the cup to her lips and her eyes bore into his relentlessly.

Her voice was soft and dangerous when she straightened and crossed her legs, her fury controlled but simmering just beneath the surface. There was a certain beauty in her as she skewered the young man across from her.

_The boy,_ she thought to herself. Because he certainly looked young and lost, then.

"Do you really think I don't know what 'Death Eater Business' entails, Malfoy?"

She sipped her tea with unflappable composure and waited for his reply, but none came.

"Didn't think you'd have to face it again, did you?" she asked softly, and there was a sharp edge to her words that Severus didn't miss.

He wondered for a moment if she had aimed them at him, too; or if she realised she had pinned him with them, equally as she had Draco.

"Granger," Draco began in a low, almost humble tone, "I was acting on orders—"

"Then you should have finished the job," she spat coldly.

Severus's head whipped around to look at her in concern.

"Draco, I think it's time we left," he said, putting his cup and saucer on the nearest surface, he wasn't even sure if it was a table or the arm of the settee. "Hermione, it's probably best if we return to—"

"I couldn't do it," Draco admitted, and his face crumbled and revealed his anguish and shame. He was not paying any attention to Severus anymore. His entire focus was on Hermione.

"You thought leaving me to that was better?" she snapped, and the cup and saucer in her hands clinked together in a nervous rhythm. She was shaking with her emotions, Severus noted.

"At least you lived! I made sure you were brought back here, where I knew Severus was because he was the only one I could think of who had a hope in Hell of healing you! The state you were in, Granger, there was no way Madam Pomfrey could have helped you, you were too far gone—"

"And I've been trapped here, since! You've condemned me, Malfoy, even if you were trying to help! Look at where your help has gotten me! I can never leave! I WILL NEVER BE FREE!"

"I'm sorry!" he cried, and stood toe to toe with her, his eyes wide and hurt and Severus began to suspect an ugly truth. Draco was lifting his arms towards Hermione, but she batted them away viciously.

"How could you do that to me!" Hermione screamed, tears slipping from her eyes. She did not seem to notice.

"I didn't have a choice!"

"There's always a choice—you just didn't like the options," she argued, and at some point she had set her cup and saucer down because Severus no longer saw or heard them, but his attention was more focused on their words.

"Of course I didn't—but if I'd taken the other choice, I never would have seen you again!" he said, and Severus felt his heart shriveling up in his chest; his breathing becoming tight.

"And I don't ever want to see you again—that is now _my choice_ , Draco!"

"Hermione, please—," the boy looked crushed, heartbroken.

Severus realised something very, very crucial at the young man's expression; even as a callous, selfish bastard, Severus recognized that look. Had seen it far too often in his own mirror.

"Thank you for tea, Draco. Please excuse me," Hermione said, and with as much dignity and composure as she could muster, she turned away and headed for the door. She shook off his grasp with a quick snap of her arm when he tried to grab for her.

Severus was almost impressed when Draco started after her; and did not realise at first that he had restrained him until Draco turned back to look at him in confusion.

"Uncle Severus?"

Oh gods. He had not heard Draco call him that in… Well, outside the previous afternoon's tea, not since Draco had been a boy. An innocent, young, spoiled boy; who was hurt and unsure why the other children would not play with him, why their parents pulled their own children back when they saw his father's or god-father's bare forearms.

It made Severus feel older, worn, and used in that moment.

He shook his head, and squeezed the young man's shoulder.

"Draco," he said, and the young man looked up at him with all the innocence he had once possessed—and may still have, if times had been different. Well, no, perhaps not, he was and always would be a Malfoy. But war had warped all their development, and this was just another ugly facet of it. Emotions, when mixed into such situations, tended to skew all hope of logic. And as a young man, a pureblood heir and a Malfoy, Draco could not give in to his emotions.

But he was also a young man who had been rejected by the person who obviously meant the most to him.

Severus forced himself to meet the young man's eyes.

"Now is not the best time, Draco," he said quietly, meaningfully.

"I—I didn't even know she was alive, until father—"

"I know. I kept her under lock and key for good reason."

"Do you know each other well now? Could you talk to her for me? Anything, even a few words, just see if she would ever—"

Severus held Draco back when he automatically tried to follow Hermione again.

"Leave it alone," he told the young man sympathetically, but firmly. "Go back to whatever you were doing. She is safe now."

"She isn't happy, though!" he said, obviously tormented by his decision.

_She was happy enough until you came back into her life_ , he wanted to say but was worried it would send Draco right over the edge. And worse, it seemed it hadn't been as true as he'd led himself to believe. Severus' disillusionment had blinded even himself.

"She has work to do, and she's safer than she's been in a good, long time. No one bothers her now. She has at least a modicum of peace."

Merlin he hoped the boy took his words to heart. And quickly, because he needed to check on Hermione. He had a very bad feeling building inside him, and it had nothing to do with the feelings and emotions he was outright refusing to acknowledge in her regard.

But Draco seemed almost taken aback at his words, and his young grey eyes clouded darkly.

And then his sneer appeared on his face, and Severus felt his chest tighten further.

As he expected, the hurt young man turned on him.

"You're just worried I'll take her from your bed. You think my father hasn't told me you sleep together? It's disgusting—she was your student; you're almost old enough to be her father!"

"Draco, that's enough—"

"No! It will never be enough! She's with you, sleeping with you in your bed, when she should have been with me!" his arms waved wildly, and Severus felt the fine hair on the back of his neck react to the malevolent energies leaking from the unstable youth. Draco turned black, wild eyes on Severus, and there was a cruel twist to his lips when he came to some kind of internal realization of his own. "I'll talk to my father. He'll ask the Dark Lord to give her to me. I'll take her from you."

"I'm going to check on Hermione," Severus said, his back already turned on the grieving young man.

Which was a mistake he would not have made if he had been in a clearer frame of mind.

He felt the lash across his back burn and seethe with the toxic residue of a curse before he had even taken a step.

And that was when Severus' own control snapped in retaliation.

He looked back over his shoulder at Draco's triumphant smirk, and decades of experience flew to his fingertips without a single spoken word.

In that instant Draco flew backwards into the wall, crashing in a cacophony of noise and localized destruction.

Slowly, with all the predatory grace of a black panther, Severus approached the young man crumpled at his feet and glared down at him with eyes colder than the Atlantic, fathoms deep and endless.

"Take another stab at me when you've learned how to defend what's yours," he said softly, looming over Draco's slowly-fading consciousness.

He pointed his wand at Draco's throat and held it there just as he held the youth's terrified eyes.

Severus' next words were smooth, calm, murderous.

"Until then, she is mine."

Their eyes met.

" _Obliviate."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To be continued.
> 
> AN: Two updates for you this month, as I will be traveling across Canada w/ my kids in July for their vacation, visiting family & enjoying birthdays together. If I have time, I will try to update at some point in July but I cannot guarantee when. It's a bit touch & go. Please enjoy this early peace offering in its stead. Much love to you, wonderful readers, and have a great summer!


	9. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus learns where it started.

**  
Chapter 9: Catalyst**

Her Gryffindor tendencies were rubbing off on him like a nasty stain, Severus decided as he stalked back to his rooms. How could he have let his emotions get the better of him so easily? He had all but shouted his declaration of intent. In fact, in a way, he literally had.

He let a bit of his frustration shoot from the end of his wand and spark against the stone corridor, expelling none of his real anger.

Would Draco remember what he had just said? No, he’d been so careful to modify the memory…

But if he did?

How would he interpret it? Mere possession? Or more?...

Severus had wanted—no, that was a lie— _still_ wanted to hex the brat to within an inch of his life, but he knew he could not risk his master’s or Lucius’s disfavour. He was not the one who would pay for it. Of course he had recognised this the moment he took her in, but since then…

Since then, the situation had developed and diverged more than he could have ever anticipated.

She had gone from being a pet to being his ultimate liability.

And more.

_More, more, more,_ that word repeated in his head as he turned the last corner and spat the password that would allow him to enter his (and Hermione’s) rooms.

More risk, more vulnerability, more at stake, more to fail (if he was being completely honest with himself, actually having something _to_ lose), more ways to lose everything he had tried to balance for so long. He was a fool.

So blinded by his denial he had not even seen what should have been obvious to him, all this time.

The fury that had burned within him so fiercely wavered at that last thought, tinged with another, far more painful emotion he refused determinedly to explain to himself, to view for what it was.

What he was.

An utter, utter fool.

* * *

 

Hermione glanced up when Severus entered.

She was unsurprised when he stared at her, appraising her, and slowed to a stop just inside the doorway, shutting the door behind him with an efficient snap.

He moved stiffly and as he approached he looked a bit away from her, even though he walked directly to her spot on the settee.

She smiled wanly up at him, exhaustion carving lines and shadows into her normally lovely face. Embarrassment and fury and hurt and betrayal and even more emotions than she could name still ran rampant through her, and she didn’t know what to do with herself in that moment. So she smiled at him, even as she felt like another part of her world had just fallen to pieces.

“I admit I was expecting dramatics, but not like that,” he said softly, joining her on the settee, and sitting very carefully. He curbed the maliciousness in his tone, too tired to deal with more hysterics.

To his surprise she chuckled, and moved closer, facing him.

“Thank you for coming with me. I’m sorry that… wasn’t exactly what I’d expected, either,” she said a bit sheepishly, and bowed her head in apology.

“You would have been a far better actress than I’d given you credit for if you could pre-meditate a performance like that,” he remarked dryly.

She snorted lightly and lifted her hand weakly to push her hair away, wincing lightly at the effort.

His eyes sharpened immediately.

“Your hand,” he ordered, and caught her guilty flush.

“It’s fine, just a bit sore.”

“Your hand now, Hermione,” he said, and his voice tightened further.

Reluctantly she extended her hand, shifting close enough to him that their knees touched. She leaned forward to see what he was doing when he raised his wand and ran it over her fingers, palm, knuckles and wrist.

He sniffed disdainfully and the tip of his wand started to glow, a soft chant sung, and Hermione felt even more embarrassed.

“You have all the magic in the world at your disposal, and instead you take your temper out on a poor defenceless stone wall,” his eyebrow arched, and she felt her cheeks redden. The glowing ceased and he looked at her as if he wondered at her sanity. “Why would you punish _yourself_ over this?” and realised his mistake—and the answer—as soon as the words left his lips. He bit his tongue as he saw her expression weaken and slip.

“Because I obviously can’t punish the one I want to,” she said softly and felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes against her best efforts.

“Oh, I’m sure you could if you truly wanted to. You’re not stupid, Hermione. You’ve proven you’ve at least a meagre hand with potions. And if I don’t miss my guess, the two of you have a history of trying to poison each other?”

Her composure wobbled and another tear leaked down her cheek, but there was a certain fond smile on her face as he continued directing healing magic through his hands into hers as he cupped her damaged hand between his larger ones protectively.

“It was a game. He and the boys—Harry and Ron—were always at each other. Even when you left your position as Potions Master, that classroom remained one of their most dangerous battlegrounds. They would try and sabotage each other’s cauldrons, that kind of thing. Draco even pulled me into it. I poisoned his lab work that day—he’d tried something really nasty on Ron. Don’t look at me like that,” she mumbled, blushing and looking away, and Severus’ eyes continued to gleam in surprise and amusement. “Anyway, he and I had always been your best Potions students… we just… took it up a notch, when it came to inflicting harm upon each other. I suppose I started to be a bit more Slytherin, finding ways of getting into his head to figure out what he’d try to do to my potion next, and then pre-empting his attempt while still ruining his work in class.”

“You were actively working to poison each other on school property? Regularly? And your new professor didn’t step in and take action?” he was incredulous, obviously wondering what kind of sod they had hired if the man obviously was not performing his main duty of keeping an eye on such regularly scheduled acts of attempted murder.

“Oh no, he did. That’s why Draco and I ended up in detention together so much. It’s how we started talking to each other properly, actually, instead of constantly insulting each other. After that many hours together, we got bored. We always finished our detail and punishments hours before the detention itself was over. We had nothing to do. We just… started talking.”

Severus nodded once, shifted her hand slightly in his palm and caught the faint flinch in her cheek, and tried to move it even more gently than he already had. She let out a quiet breath she’d been holding and relaxed as more healing magic flooded into her hand, numbing and cooling the pain. She could not help the pleased sigh of relief that slipped out; Severus did not react.

“Where was your professor during all of this?”

“We think in your old private potions lab. We’re pretty sure he created a small distillery in there. He seemed quite withdrawn on Monday mornings at the breakfast table,” she said with a shrug. “Well, I suppose it may have been a meth lab, but we were pretty sure it was alcohol.”

When he gave her a look, she returned it with a shake of her head and a, “don’t look at me!” expression.

“Ministry appointed,” was all she said. Which definitely explained a great deal.

His light eye-roll was all she needed to interpret his opinion.

“Eventually we started making our own potions in the lab after we’d finished our detentions. One-upping each other. Criticising each other’s work… it actually made us both very adept. It became a bit of a battle to keep my top spot when Draco figured out that all he had to do to rile me was best me on an assignment. I couldn’t stand his gloating,” she seethed.

“Unsupervised? You were making potions unsupervised?” growled the Potions Master, and Hermione startled and looked back at him again—but his long hair hung in front of his face, hiding his expression.

“Ministry. Appointed.” Her words were succinct and to the point. There really was no other explanation needed.

“Bloody Hell.”

“Actually,… it worked to our advantage. We knew we couldn’t risk being too irresponsible on the occasions we were alone. It forced us to pay attention to what we were doing. And once we knew what we were doing, we started looking for ways of improving the potions we learned in our everyday lessons… and then the ones we didn’t learn in our everyday lessons…” she hinted vaguely.

_The revel potion_ , realised Severus immediately. They had been dabbling in even those types of potions… but… no, he was not going to ask. He did not want to know why. He could not stomach knowing why at that moment, or having it confirmed to him while feeling so unsettled already.

“And from there, love blossomed,” he said snidely enough to hide the discomfort in his tone.

“….No,” she replied softly, her head dropping down as she stared at her damaged hand. Her even, if relaxed tone had changed to something darker, more remote.

“Some of the other Slytherins, one night when I was returning from the library to my room, the Head Girl’s rooms, there were four of them, all children of Death Eaters. In the hallway, they… I should have realised they were there, it was stupid of me to assume I was safe in the castle, but I was just so tired and distracted and…”

Severus’ hands had stilled, and he was now looking up at her, his suspicions growing and festering like boils or ulcers in his stomach.

Hermione swallowed, curling in on herself, and her voice wavered slightly. “… Once they’d dragged me into a classroom, two of them held me down while another… and the last one kept watch… and then Draco found them. And I thought it was all over for me then, especially the way he smirked and congratulated them. They told him they hadn’t had their real fun yet, and he told them to go get a magical camera, and they all ran off excitedly,” she choked on her words, and was shaking lightly.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to say something. But he just could not find the words—he could not find words harsh enough for those miserable, cowardly bastards. He hated that he would have to talk to Draco again, but there were worse sacrifices. He would torture him to find out who the little fucks had been. And then maybe just keep torturing him.

“But the minute they’d run out the door, Draco sealed it behind them. And then his whole persona changed. I’d never seen him look so scared and young. I thought he was still part of it, so I was still trying to crawl away, to find my wand, but… he stopped me. He just picked me up and rushed me on his back straight to the infirmary, banging on the door so hard that Madam Pomfrey tore a strip out of him when she first answered, but then…” Hermione let out a low, tired breath. Her emotional grieving was disjointed as she tried to relay the previous traumatic events.

“Then he rushed straight down to the potions lab and brewed up as many different healing salves and concoctions as he could find recipes for,” she chuckled dismally at the memory, and then winced, staring at her hand again.

“Severus,” she said, drawing her hand back.

“Stay still,” he muttered tersely, refusing to apologise for becoming… distracted. He had to control himself better. He had been fine—physically—as he had listened to the account of her assault, but now to hear of Draco’s attempts at actual care, he lost his focus. He ignored the possible meanings behind that, tucking the confusion away for later study.

“When he was done, he came back and stayed with me for a bit, making sure I would be better as soon as possible.”

His voice was cautious. “Were you?”

“I had to stay there until noon, to make sure nothing was outwardly visible, but I was mostly fine by the afternoon. Luckily Draco arrived before they… went too far.” She pressed her lips together.

Severus watched her swallowing and trying to compose herself again. In a way, he admired her resolve… if simultaneously hating what had shaped her to forge it into such thick armour that it had taken this much to cause it to crack again, to leave her emotionally vulnerable once more.

When she continued, he renewed his gentle ministrations upon her hand, sliding subtly up her wrist to smooth a thumb over her palm and pulse, going as far as her silky forearm where he came across the smooth, raised flesh of her scars.

It seemed like Hermione either didn’t notice, or ignored the shift as she continued on.

“He didn’t look at me at all, he never did when he was around others unless it was to toss insults. We did that to keep up appearances.” Then the corner of her lips quirked up, and a sliver of light came back into her eyes as she glanced at Severus, only to be met with the curtain of his dark hair again as he hunched forward over her hand.

“Apparently there was a meeting between him and the sixth & seventh year Slytherins that next morning, and he berated them about being so obvious. He told them to tone it back until they heard direction from their parents to go after specific students—and to confirm with him so he could ‘arrange for them to be uninterrupted’. He would give me as much warning as he could.”

“That boy,” grumbled Severus, and Hermione arched a brow at him. She had thought it was clever enough at the time, if a bit obvious if one knew the truth.

“Technically, it was working… until those directions actually came…”

Her sad, rueful voice softened and drifted off as the truth descended upon them, and Severus did glance up at her then. He had finished working on her hand ages ago, but had not been able to relinquish it yet. He continued to pour numbing magic into it, but mostly to hide the fact that he had been massaging the aches away once the true healing had finished. It was not at all the fact that he could not bear to let her go, to not touch her at a time when she needed comfort the most. When he needed to be able to offer her something, at least, or something of himself.

“He told me what he’d said, and he told me to let him know if they tried anything further. He actually gave me something similar to what you did, the jewellery… Which was how I recognised what that was, when you gave me the box… I was just surprised.” Hermione’s face tightened and she swallowed. “So when he called me out to meet him, I thought it was a more private meeting. We had been… unofficially together for some time. We would meet,” she shrugged tightly, and her free arm wrapped around her stomach, holding herself tight.

“You ‘met’…?” he asked.

She nodded, lips pursed, looked away.

And he realised what she meant by ‘met’.

Her entire body was tense, Severus noticed. He remained quiet, though he continued to gently massage her hand. He was on what he knew Muggles referred to as ‘autopilot’ by now… where the motions he performed were automatic, not conscious. He let the distance invade, insidiously, even as she held his attention rapt.

“So when he asked me to meet him on a particular evening, I went. Stupidly.”

Her hand tightened around his a moment, and Severus felt her shaking slightly.

“I thought at first he was just posturing for a bunch of his stupid friends, to throw them off… And I was so stupid, I actually trusted him to stop them, like he did the first time.”

She swallowed. “And then he didn’t.”

She was biting her lip, then, and Severus felt his heart lurch in his chest, and his stomach drop into his feet for the second time that night. The fact that she kept using the word ‘stupid’… it just wasn’t her.

“And they didn’t stop. They didn’t. I was screaming, and trying to hex them, but there’s only so much one young woman can do against so many near-adult males in that kind of situation, no matter how smart she is,” she admitted ruefully. “Though, I admit, I kept holding back… I kept holding back because I didn’t want to accidentally hurt him. I held back, and expected him to stop them in time, at some time, at any time… and they… he… didn’t.

“The worst was I almost got away. It was a fluke, but I managed to stun them with their own wands at one point; and then I was crawling back, just trying to get to a portrait to call for help—but I was so hurt I couldn’t walk, I think one of my legs was broken by then.” She stumbled a bit over her words. “… and inside, after what they did, I hurt so much, and… and then I found out they’d had a lookout,” she sniffed in derision, and Severus recognised self-hate in its ugliest form. She thought she could have stopped it if she had been stronger, faster, better… like she thought it happened because of something she was not.

“It isn’t your fault,” he said immediately. “Hermione, this was premeditated. They’d obviously planned to overwhelm you. There was nothing fair about it. They were banking on your being alone and vulnerable, without Harry and Ron. They would have known you travelled back and forth to the library on your own at night,” he tried, only to have her interrupt with an ugly bark of a sound.

“So much for being the most talented witch of my generation,” she muttered angrily, eyes still turned downwards and away.

“Hermione, they weren’t looking to fight you. You could have bested several of them in a duel, I’d bet, and in battle, too. But this was--,” _rape, assault_ , but he was not about to use those words. “An entirely different position... You cannot blame yourself for being unprepared to defend yourself in those circumstances. It’s… a different kind of attack. One that targets and intends to harm far more than your corporeal self. They weren’t treating or fighting you like a witch; they were treating you like an objectified woman.”

He had been a Head of House long enough to have come across such situations before, unfortunately; normally he had summoned Madam Pomfrey to assist, due to the sensitive nature of the encounters and questions that arose. But that was not an option now. Now, he was alone to deal with the fallout that should have been faced months ago, but that they had swept under the rug in a way through mutual understanding, because neither had thought they had been readily equipped to handle it then.

So this left Severus trying to salvage and appeal to Hermione’s damaged inner self, to now try to help her face down the worst kind of betrayal, to help her find her inner strength again and above all, to find value in herself.

He thought he had the answer, and looked at her meaningfully for a moment before focusing back on her hand.

“But they didn’t bank on your will to live, Hermione. They couldn’t take that away from you. You’re stronger than that. Stronger than any of them,” he insisted quietly, his low voice smooth and he hoped, calming.

But he had been wrong, and she jerked at his words.

“No. I’m alive because _you wouldn’t let me die._ ”

Severus’s eyes snapped up and met hers the instant she spat the words.

He was taken aback at the flat hardness in her gaze, and wondered where she had been hiding such animosity.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head once, a shattering, furious movement.

“No. You took even my death away from me. I didn’t want to live after that, Severus. I didn’t want to remember it. I didn’t want to think about the person I cared most about doing that to me; feeling shame and humiliation and inadequacy. Every day I have been trapped in these rooms, I have dreamed of what I would do to him when I next met him—and then you brought him over for tea, of all things, and I had to play nice. Nice to him, after what he… “

Her words trailed off, her expression going even colder as she stared off into the middle-distance of something only she could see.

Cautiously, he dared to squeeze her hand, but she did not react, immediately.

It took a second, but then Hermione’s eyes turned to Severus’, and her mouth tilted into an ugly, if still quiet sneer.

“But you’re just like them, aren’t you? You knew. You had to have known. You and Lucius and Draco…”

Then the warmth that had built behind her cold eyes spilled over again, and Severus felt himself growing colder inside.

He had not had any idea of what had happened, not exactly. Had not even known she had been an immediate target until she had been presented to him (most likely to be disposed of), broken on the floor of that cold, filthy cell.

And while he knew her words were more defensive than logical, that she was just losing her control, finally, over what had happened, lashing out at him because she needed an outlet…

It hurt that she might think he was on the same level as Lucius and Draco.

‘Death Eater’, yes, but bent on making her suffer? She had never been more wrong. And that was when he hardened himself to her words, even though he still felt their impact when they connected.

Hermione was not Hermione anymore.

“I hate you,” she said.

She choked on her anger, and Severus felt his expression turn to stone. He could not let her keep going like this. She was not in the mood to heal. She was in the mood to vent, to strike, to harm others in some hope they would hurt the way she had been hurt. He was her target now.

And he reminded himself of this over and over again, as his mask fell into place.

He would not react.

He would not let himself show anything.

And so his eyes turned as cold and black and hard as hers.

And he hid behind them.

He let her hand drop.

“You’re tired, over-emotional, and obviously still suffering from the stress of your trauma. Go to bed, Granger, before you make your situation far worse than it already is.”

He meant it.

She shook her head and made an ugly noise in her throat. It was not a retreat, but she was not leaving because he told her to. She was just too far gone to keep going.

“Are you going to put away all the sharps again?” she taunted, rising unsteadily to stand. Her exhaustion was catching up to her. She had obviously had enough. After the emotional rending, the heart-to-heart, and now the explosive temper, Hermione seemed to be reaching her end.

_Yes_ , he thought to himself in answer to her question. And he would clear her stash of potions and stock of ingredients from her reach first thing in the morning.

Instead, he replied in a patient if patronizing tone, “I’ll see you in the morning when you’re ready to be civil.”

“Fuck you, Severus,” she snapped, stomping away from him, and a second later he heard the door to his room being flung open, his bed raided, and then the door to her private room opening and slamming shut behind her.

When he was sure she was not going to emerge from her rooms, he let his head collapse slowly forward into his palms, silent even as his wounded back protested the position.

His insides were objecting to everything else, far louder, anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Phew! Sorry for the delay; posting this update (a longer one for you, wonderful readers!) a bit early for you this month to make up for it. I am currently dealing with a hard drive failure, please wish me luck. Regular updates to resume in September (crossing fingers). 
> 
> AN: Happy reading, wonderful you! Let me know if you have any Severus x Hermione (or Malfoy x Hermione) fic recs, I’m always in search of more. Cheers and see you in September!


	10. Interstitial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco checks in. Hermione checks out.

**Chapter 10: Interstitial**

"Glutton for punishment, aren't you?" Severus remarked with an arched brow when he opened his door early the next morning.

Draco glared at him in ugly fashion, his red-rimmed and sunken eyes making him look even worse.

"Where is she?" he asked without preamble, and tried to see beyond Severus' shoulder into his quarters.

"She is unavailable."

The potions master made to close the door, but the Malfoy was determined and even dared to breach polite protocol by slamming his hand on the door to keep it open.

Severus was not amused.

"How… How is she?" Draco's slightly raspy voice gave away too much, Severus thought. The blond man's carefully composed face, if wounded by the souls of his eyes, was as nobly carved as ever, but his voice was far too telling. He would have made a terrible spy, Severus inwardly sneered.

Severus watched the young man's expression as he considered how best to answer.

But really, the reply was the same.

"She is… unavailable," he repeated, and looked at the young man meaningfully.

It was obvious that Draco was perfectly ready to charge through the man blocking his way, and that the potions master was perfectly willing to prevent that.

So they stared at each other a long while, considering each other.

Severus wondered just how much Draco remembered from the night before. He considered using Legilimency to suss it out, but wondered if the young man would be able to tell he was doing it, and may report it to his father, thus landing Severus in an even more questionable position.

But then he nearly smirked when he felt the young Malfoy trying to poke at his mind awkwardly with his own inexpert attempt at Legilimency.

Now, thought Severus to himself drolly as he found himself Occluding automatically to prevent the attempt from going too deep—yet—, would it be more amusing to just tell Lucius what his son had attempted?

… or would he get more mileage from feeding Draco a few images to gently redirect him, and reminding him of his place in the pecking order?

His decision was made when he felt the equivalent of the young man stomping his feet in frustration and giving Severus' mental barriers a petulant kick.

The hardest part was not smirking, Severus mused to himself as he presented the first of a few select images to Lucius' son.

* * *

Every day, every single day without fail, Draco would send flowers, books, potions ingredients to Hermione, and without fail, Severus accepted them in her stead with an impassive aloofness that hid his true thoughts. It went unspoken that Severus would spend at least some time in his own bedroom each day, mornings, afternoons, evenings, so that Hermione could leave her own room for a bit to eat or just wander through their suite. He was not avoiding her, but trying to give her at least some freedom while still guaranteeing her privacy. He could sense how unstably her magic would flare, sometimes, and stayed at his door to wait, listen, to make sure that if she needed help he could reach her at a moment's notice.

Most of all, he just wanted…

Letting out a huff, Severus tore his eyes away from his door when he heard a knock at the door to their rooms. It was followed by the sound of light, rapid footsteps retreating to a bedroom down the hall. Then, the door shutting and the faint creak—a creak which he had added to alert her to his own movements—of his own door as he slid through the quiet hallway to answer the door to their suite, where a certain blond Malfoy was once again waiting patiently for any hint of response from the lady of the… residence as it were.

* * *

Normally he would leave Draco's offerings just outside her door, however it had been days since he had properly seen Hermione and he was beginning to grow concerned at her continued isolation.

On top of that, he was quite suspicious of the young Malfoy's latest request for forgiveness, and did not trust just dropping it off with her until he knew what, exactly, it was. Or would do.

It was without outward trepidation that he knocked on her door that afternoon, and called out a soft, "Granger?"

And he was not surprised when he received no reply—though he admitted to himself he was a bit unimpressed she did not at least snap at him to go away. Was she or was she not a Gryffindor?

He rapped his knuckles against her door more forcefully, already scowling that she was making him repeat himself.

"Granger. Out now or I'm coming in."

Silence—no, he paused, listening more carefully—there was a hint of rustling from inside.

"Granger," he repeated for the third time, far less tolerantly, "You can come out now or I can come in and you will be forcibly removed, with less than delicate care. And I strongly recommend you consider that quickly and refrain from any pathetic attempts at hexing me in my own chambers and the effect it would have on your own well-being. Now open this door or have you suddenly become as jaundiced as a Hufflepuff?" he sneered.

He would later think back and wonder if that had been going a bit too far, considering she managed to hex him through the door for that one.

As much as it smarted and stung, a part of him almost rejoiced at her creativity and defiance.

But he still dragged her kicking and screaming to the living room after berating her for lack of malicious intent.

"If you're going to do it, put some feeling into it, woman!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Apologies for the shorter chapter; the next few chapters are quite a bit longer. See you in October!


	11. Cusp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reconciliation. Draco serves a purpose.

# Chapter 11: Cusp  
  


Things returned to semi-normal after a bit of shouting and insulting and hexing.

And when they patched each other up, they even reached a truce of sorts.

“And…” Hermione’s eyes shone a bit wetly as her cheeks warmed and she looked away. “Er, sorry. For hexing you.”

Severus snorted. “You could have at least done a better job of it. You were taught better than that,” he scoffed, more insulted than anything.

When she tilted her head at him and looked puzzled, he considered his words more carefully.

Then sighed and felt his shoulders droop. “Apologies, I forgot myself,” he muttered stiffly. It was a wonder she had learned any defensive (or offensive) dark magic at all, given Hogwarts’ track record with a certain class’s teaching staff.

And when Hermione grinned softly, if wryly, to herself and shook her head, then snorted at him in return, he knew they were on the road to forgiveness.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes; wordlessly he summoned tea and they served themselves as they let themselves just simply be.

“Severus?” she asked after a length, looking up at him. Neither knew how much time had passed, but it had not felt uncomfortable or awkward in the least. It was almost… peaceful, in a way. And it was then that Severus realised how much he had missed just having her company over the past days.

So when she spoke, he looked at her directly, sitting just on the other side of the couch.

“Mm?”

Their eyes met.

For the first time in close to a fortnight, her smile was warm and reached her eyes, and he felt his heart hit his ribcage with far more force than he thought was strictly necessary at the sight of it. His spirits rose and his emotions with it. For a second his breath caught in his throat.

This was her, this was his Hermione returned to him again. She was back, he almost smiled back in pure relief.

“Thank you,” she said, so sincerely heartfelt, but just loud enough for him to hear.

And when he just looked at her, confused and uncertain as to how to reply, her smile quirked a bit higher and she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek before standing and heading to the kitchen to make them something to eat.

And for a second Severus thought his heart was going to leap right out of his chest. The notion should have been distressing.

It was more distressing that it was not.

* * *

 

It was a few days later that Hermione was sitting on the sofa again with a box of random items in front of her on a small side table she had conjured. She had not holed herself up since their truce, and Severus for one was much more content with the return to their usual routine—with the exception of a certain visitor’s regular interruptions.

“Spring cleaning?”

She looked up at Severus as he entered, and arched an eyebrow.

“Not exactly. More… evaluating.”

“Well you know where the garbage is,” he said politely, and turned towards his room.

“Severus?” she called uncertainly, and he looked at her over his shoulder.

She looked down at the box, her brow furrowed, before looking up at him again, and he noticed then that it contained the gifts from Draco.

“Could you… I… I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, painfully unsure.

“Are there any expensive potions ingredients?” he asked after a time.

“Yes.”

“Keep those, they’re useful,” he said, and when he turned back to his room he heard her sigh with exasperation—and more than a hint of irritation.

* * *

 

“I want to see her.”

“I’m sure you have a fine memory, and a pensieve at your disposal,” drawled Severus, unmoved.

The blond man scowled at him, and Severus was hard-pressed not to smirk in accomplishment.

“I want to see with my own eyes that she’s…”

As his voice trailed off, the older man watched him levelly.

Draco’s brows drew together and dipped further as he re-thought his options. His shoulders straightened as he reviewed what he knew about Severus and Hermione.

“Is there anything she needs at the moment? Clothing? Books?” he asked. “I know she can’t get things like that herself at the moment. All she does is read, sleep, and brew with you, if the rumours are to be believed.”

Severus would have conceded the point if not for the fact that he was providing for Hermione, and had been for some months now, and it had not been particularly arduous…

… but then his mind whirred into gear and his expression changed to one of controlled tolerance, masking his true intentions.

In coolly dispassionate tones, he drawled, “She has mentioned recently that she would like some…”

* * *

 

Hermione knocked on Severus’ door and when he called for her to enter she dropped a medium-sized box on the end of his bed.

“Here. I think you could make more use of these than I could,” she sighed, and he stood from his desk to approach and investigate.

“Honestly, these are far too expensive and advanced ingredients for me to use right now,” she remarked mostly to herself. “It would take me years to be confident enough to make potions dangerous or complicated enough to employ them,” she admitted. “At least, on my own. I’ll keep an eye out for potions that could make use of them, but in the meantime, I wondered if you would like to call dibs?”

“Nonsense. With guidance, your skills are sufficiently adequate to neither ruin nor waste them entirely,” he admonished, but there was none of his renowned venom behind it. “But let’s see what you’ve been saddled with.”

Still bemused, Hermione shrugged and poked around the box further as Severus came to stand beside her, doing the same. As they stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands occasionally brushing as they perused the contents, she sighed.

“I just don’t know where he got the idea that I needed these—they would have cost a small fortune to acquire. And I can tell he didn’t skimp on quality. His pride wouldn’t dare.”

“Hmm, indeed…” he agreed. “One can never underestimate the extent a man, especially a Pureblood, would go to to prove himself,” he murmured, half to himself.

Severus did not miss the glance Hermione shot his way, but committed to ignore it.

He kept his thoughts to himself, but resolved to keep a longer shopping list at the ready for Draco’s future visits.

* * *

 

In the storeroom for his finished potions, almost the size of a warehouse now that he had Hermione’s assistance and, to be frank, enthusiasm, Severus noted that it would soon be time again to add more extendable shelves, or perhaps re-arrange the stores to organize them more efficiently. The sheer variety and volume of tonics, mixtures, solvents and salves was enormous, and if anyone outside of himself and the Dark Lord had realised, probably even more of an incentive for others to locate and attack them. They were better stocked than the Ministry and St Mungo’s, combined.

It was only when one really took the time to look at their scrupulously written labels that they would realise that there were two potion-brewers – and that the contents of a good portion of the stores were actually healing-related instead of the presumed toxins everyone assumed he spent his free time preparing. In fact, there truly was not much need to brew poisons as such when so many Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord, preferred to attack their opponents directly. If a more subtle tactic was requested, he was usually approached by the individual and the matter was discussed to the most exact specifications before he prepared the appropriate draught. Poisons were just as fatal to their administrators as they were to their intended victims, after all, which was why a certain amount of education and care were required before he released them into another’s possession. The bulk of the Dark Lord’s trust in Snape was based on the fact that the Potions Master was so meticulous and diligent in all aspects of his life; Voldemort trusted Snape not to behave recklessly.

Which was one of the only reasons he had been allowed to keep the Granger girl under his custody, especially for so long, Severus knew.

Because he was careful, not hasty, wishful, or irresponsible. He was methodical, not taken to flights of fancy or carelessness. He was a logical, cold, calculating person who never did anything without thinking five, ten, or fifteen steps ahead.

So he was alternately relieved, confused and frustrated that he could not remember why he had gone to the storeroom; why he had randomly been looking around and picked up an unremarkable, elegantly labelled potion from one of the many shelves; why his thumb continued absently tracing the feminine scripting on that label while he was lost in thought. Bottles and jars and canisters, some labelled by his hand, others by hers, all were lined up neatly on the shelf one alongside another. For so long, his had been the only writing to adorn any concoction found in the storerooms. Now hers fit in neatly nearly everywhere the shelves reached.

It was not obvious until one looked closely, though, to see the difference, how insidiously her potions had infiltrated the Dark Lord’s own potions stores.

Severus had not changed anything he did, for the Dark Lord; but for some reason, he felt something fundamental in himself had changed, and he could not figure out what.

With a quiet scoff he replaced the potion back on the shelf, and with a billow of his robes he turned on his heel and exited the storeroom.

Perhaps Hermione would like a project; she may re-arrange this room while he was away for the next several weeks. A change of scenery would hopefully help her cope.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading; see you in November!


	12. Crossroads

**Chapter 12: Crossroads**

As he walked back to his shared chambers, Severus Snape considered the situation he found himself in.

_Hermione_.

He admitted nothing to himself, yet was unsure he could keep denying it, either. He had always felt that knowing oneself was one of the best ways to strengthen oneself in any situation or condition, because it would make it impossible for another to take advantage of a surprise gap in one's armour.

She had not drilled holes in his armour so much as she had shone a brighter light on it so he could see it better for himself.

And now he was looking closer at it, and what was behind it; he was looking at not only what that armour protected, but what it hid from view. That included strengths and insecurities.

He was not trying to supplant Draco, he was not trying to put himself in the other man's place.

He was not trying to put himself before Hermione to make her see his values, presence, potentials, when she was so vulnerable. He was not deliberately trying to make her rely on him, he was not preying on that gap in her spirit which had caved open when her trust had been breached and smashed so many months prior. He was not trying to worm his way into her life, her heart, her soul, to find value in her awareness, acceptance, and appreciation or, gods help him, arousal at his proximity and company.

He was not.

Because it would imply that he had a weakness, a fault, an opening in his own self that she could fill, in return.

And their circumstances, their histories, their entire, awful situation just did not lend to that kind of potential compatibility, compliment, duality and satisfaction.

So why did he keep trying to delude himself otherwise, that was the real question.

And why did he want to keep doing so?

Did he want to make the armour thicker, stronger, tougher to breach where she was concerned; or did he want to take it off, have her loosen the knots, slide her fingers between the hardened plates, lift it from his battered torso and touch him?

Severus tightened his fingers into a fist for a second to calm them before he opened the door that led back into his private chambers; the trembling stopped immediately.

Inside, Hermione looked up and greeted him with a smile and offered him a cup of tea, and did he want to look at the latest edition of  _Potioneers Monthly_? She thought she had found an error in their article on the placement of runes in the production of advanced batch processing…

His expression did not change, but Severus felt something inside him tighten and weaken and twist simultaneously at the welcoming warmth in her gaze.

He nodded, and the twisting in his chest wound tighter as their fingers grazed each other when he accepted the booklet from her outstretched hand.

And when warmth rose faintly in her cheeks at the contact, and he pretended nothing had changed, that he had not noticed anything different, he had to fight the urge to curl his fingers around hers if only another moment longer.

He would not give in to the curiosity that quietly simmered in his belly to know what it would take to make that blush burn brighter. Not that afternoon.

Not letting out the low breath he wanted to, Severus inclined his head.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."

_No_ , he told himself firmly,  _I am not_.

He repeated it to himself several times as he settled in beside her on the sofa to read, close but not touching.

Somehow, over the several hours they spent together that afternoon, she ended up pressed into his side asleep, her head tilted into his shoulder, her hands flopped down on their lap; their legs were so close, thigh to thigh, that it was a communal lap.

And he lied to himself, then, when he lifted his arm up and relaxed it around her shoulders, drawing her faintly closer.

_To help her rest, so she doesn't end up with a sore neck_ , he reasoned.

It was an outright lie, because he knew he could have easily taken her to their bed and laid her down to sleep.

But he was selfish, and a liar, and he was leaving soon and would not see her again for at least a fortnight, and really, if they could sleep side by side in a bed, what was the difference if she fell asleep at his side on the sofa?

And he ignored the fact that he was still awake, and holding her close to him.

He did not lie to himself often, but this seemed at the same time more and less odious.

Especially when he let his palm rest upon her warm hand, and squeezed just the faintest bit, before relaxing again overtop of hers, as he had wished to earlier when he had first arrived back.

* * *

That night, after he had gone to sleep in their bed, his breathing low and even, Hermione woke.

And a faint smile tilted the corners of her lips as she sleepily watched him breathe, in and out, the movement of his chest relaxing her as his torso met her side warmly each time.

After an indeterminate period her lids felt heavy and she slid asleep again, but not before she had reached out for his hand and squeezed it lightly in return.

* * *

_Do not try anything in this book until I return._

_-S_

Hermione frowned darkly at the scrap of parchment that Severus had left as a teasing, tempting bookmark in the tome that she found nestled half-under her pillow when she woke. Her bracelet jingled softly as she pulled it free.

Obviously old, but very well maintained, the leather binding only creaked a little bit as she cracked it open and began reviewing the table of contents.

—then her eyes immediately flew to the hallway, in the direction of their private small storeroom where she kept the box of rare potions ingredients Draco had left her.

Her frown immediately reversed itself into a blooming mad grin, and she jumped out of bed and raced down the hall.

_Read the entire book_ _**first** _ _, Hermione._

_You may organize the storeroom in the meantime. You'll need to be intimately familiar with its every nook and cranny by the time I return if we are going to attempt that which is found in the later chapters._

_-S_

She laughed aloud at feeling the exasperation he had no doubt felt himself when he had written the message that was sealing the top of the box of potions ingredients shut.

Then she whipped out her wand to help carry the book and box to the coffee table at the same time, and set about getting ready for the day.

If she could reorganize the potions stores within the first week, she could spend the rest of her time poring through every page of the lovely gift Severus had left her.

Alone, Hermione let herself smile even more brightly and did not bother to hide any of her glowing flush.

His disappearance upset her and opened her heart to her now-familiar loneliness, but it was offset by the knowledge that he trusted her with his more advanced potions manuals, unlimited access to his storerooms, and his high expectation that she would be ready for Master-level brewing upon his return.

He had left her with something to look forward to—along with the promise that he would be back.

For now, that was enough for her.

* * *

**To be continued**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a shorter chapter; work is quite busy at the moment. If I can manage it, I'll try and make up for it with another chapter later this month.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Thank you for reading, have a fantastic November!


	13. Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius notices.

**Chapter 13: Witness**

In the depths of the Bavarian forest where he unleashed the  _fiendfyre_  on the former 'safehouse' lodge the Order had been preparing, Severus felt the pendant he wore beneath his cloak warming in recognition.

His eyes softened and he felt a hint of honest joy peek through his normally cold expression.

"Knew you'd enjoy cutting their legs out from beneath them, Severus," remarked Lucius, misinterpreting the cause of his colleague's slight change in demeanour.

"Mm," was all the Potions Master replied.

Not very much later, he also felt an angry stabbing emotion, strangely directed at him personally, and realised that Hermione must have started on the reorganization of the storerooms.

He snorted to himself.

Lucius gave him a quick slap on the back of encouragement. "The west side could do with a bit more attention, wouldn't you say? Perhaps we should have invited Draco after all, he could have learned a great deal from you about how to control his—"

_**FWHOOSH!** _

Without batting a lash, Severus remained impassive as the fire exploded out the side of the building.

"It should be finished soon enough. I think it's safe to move on to the next location—would you gather the captains, Lucius, and we'll break camp?"

Lucius Malfoy's eyes were still slightly wide as he took in the inferno before them.

"— _fiendfyre_ ," murmured the Malfoy patriarch, somewhat awed. "Sometimes I do wonder if you're a man possessed, Severus," he said dryly, his attention returning to his long-time friend.

But Severus had already turned and started snapping out orders at a lesser Death Eater to hurry up and start gathering the others for mass-Apparating soon. All the while, the dark-haired man maintained his flawless control over the storm of  _fyre_  that lit the forest but never let a lick touch the surrounding trees. He made it seem effortless.

Dangerous thoughts turned around in Lucius' mind as he regarded his friend. It seemed to him like Severus had become ever more formidable in the past months, his missions always completed flawlessly and ahead of schedule, his focus unrelenting. He was rushing, but rushing carefully, not leaving anything to chance (not that he ever had before). Yes, Snape was ruthless and efficient, as he always had been, just moreso in some ways. Lucius wondered vaguely if there was anything prompting the Potion Masters' haste—

Then he bit back a smirk in realization.

_Of course._

So, Severus was enjoying his new toy, if he was in such a rush to return to it.

_How… interesting_ , thought Lucius, his lips turning from a smirk to a cruel smile.

* * *

Draco glanced up at his father as he swept into their library and quickly rose to his feet.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Father?"

Lucius paced a moment before he straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, eyeing his son thoughtfully. There were plenty of ways to charm the information from others, but perhaps it was time to see how much his son had learned from his interactions with Severus and Miss Granger.

"What do you know of Severus'… interest… in his Mudblood?"

Draco frowned, and Lucius studied every hair on his son's brow, his stance, the tilt of his lips and the telling clenching of his jaw and fists at his sides.

"He is protective of her. Possessive," said Draco, and Lucius caught the twin reddening spots of colour high on his son's cheeks before his son could regain his slip in composure. Then, in a blink, Draco was a cool and pale as polished marble again, his gaffe smoothed over anew.

"He keeps her nearly confined to his own quarters and personal areas when he is away. She is allowed to roam more freely when he is near. Unless they are brewing—he keeps her very close, then, like an assistant. They sleep together, from what I understand, if the house-elves' gossip is to be believed."

Lucius gave his son an appraising look, and Draco tilted his chin higher. "I do not discount the rumours of the servants—they have eyes where we do not."

Lucius nodded, expressionless, and Draco continued.

"I don't know for sure of any… intimacy. She was never really the type, at Hogwarts. But they take their meals together, and are not… publicly affectionate, by any means… at least, visibly."

And no matter how hard his son tried to keep his voice even, Lucius heard the tight control woven through Draco's last words. Was his son… jealous?

_Very interesting, indeed._

But Lucius decided against insulting his son's poor taste in bedmates in favour of learning more about just what Severus had been up to, these past months, under everyone's very noses.

"So he treats her like an apprentice?" The elder Malfoy mused aloud. It made sense.

Draco looked taken aback for a moment, before turning curious grey eyes upon his father.

Lucius rubbed his fingertips over his mouth and chin a moment, before continuing his thoughts.

"If he is protective, but not affectionate; keeps her close when brewing but lets her roam when he has no need of her; makes her seek refuge in his personal quarters when he is not there to guard her—or her knowledge—; and if they are not…. intimate… as you put it… then it sounds more like a very traditional type of apprenticeship. In different times, hundreds of years ago, for example, Masters were known to be very strict with their students, like they were the most precious works they would ever produce—and in a way, they were, since they would often continue their Masters' work long after the passing of their Master. They held their Masters' secrets, worked alongside them for lifetimes, often, and in some cases became nearly soul-bonded through their dedication to their craft. It would not surprise me if Severus would have made her chop his firewood for him, if this had been several hundred years ago," chortled Lucius, his eyes gleaming at the mental image of Granger in a turnip-coloured tunic, her face muddy as she was forced to chop wood by work-roughened hands, the Muggle way, without the use of her wand.

He wondered for a moment if Severus would let him borrow his Mudblood for a day, just to try it out. It would be ridiculously entertaining.

"You think he has taken her on as an Apprentice?" repeated Draco, unconvinced.

Lucius' eyebrow rose. "Hmm? By your own description, yes… Why, was there something… more… you wished to share, Draco?"

He watched his son carefully from the corner of his eye as Draco struggled to find the right words.

Lucius heartfelt ratcheted up a notch when he saw something behind his son's grey eyes, and he waited, patiently, for the clue he had been waiting for.

Finally, Draco's face pinched slightly before he looked up at his father again.

"He… looks at her," he said levelly.

And Lucius looked at his son, then, reading behind what Draco was telling him.

Severus looked at others—yes, but one always felt like the Potions Master was looking through them, because they were beneath his regard.

Now, Draco was saying he  _looked at_  Granger.

"Does he, now?" murmured Lucius Malfoy, a cruel sneer gracing his elegant face.

_How very interesting, indeed._

* * *

**To be continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Update #2 this month, as promised! Thank you for your patience! As always, if you have questions you're welcome to PM me or send me an anonymous ask through my tumblr (beyondthemoor). Cheers, and have a fantastic last week of February. I can't believe we've almost reached December.


	14. Fasten

# Chapter 14: Fasten

 

There was no light shining beneath his door when he returned to his chambers, but Severus was not fooled; he could tell Hermione was still awake by the nervous energy he felt through their bonded jewellery.

Is she waiting up for me? He wondered as a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and he felt a warming anticipation begin to flow through him, too. Perhaps it was the way he had teased her with the note he had sent along earlier that day, confirming he would be returning by midnight, but he was… expectant, somehow.

Anticipatory.

Just making curfew, he thought to himself with amusement as he felt the wards pushing against him a moment before allowing him entry into his rooms; midnight was but a few minutes away.

And then he was through the wards, through the door, through to his own living room and hearing footsteps rushing towards him, and a beautiful, healthy, wonderful face happily smiling at him and reaching out to drag him forward.

“You’re back! I have supper waiting for you, and the storerooms are done, and I read through the entire book, cover to cover, and I went through the box of Draco’s things, and just wait until you see what I managed to do by myself with the unicorn floss, and—“

He tried not to let his amusement, his contentment, his utter satisfaction show through too obviously as Hermione prattled on about every single detail of her business while he had been away.

So he just listened.

And if she noticed the way his shoulders relaxed, bit by bit, or the way he settled against the back of the sofa cushions just to take in her words, the way no potion she had brewed kept his attention longer than simply she could, she did not give away any hint of it.

And if, when they went to bed in the wee hours of the morning when he insisted he had been away for three days straight, and had his shower, their hands happened to casually bump against each other and fold together, and squeeze each one another when they thought the other was asleep, well, neither mentioned that, either.

And he would be damned if he would admit he knew she was awake, when he felt her spike of joy through the resulting warmth that hummed through the pendant against his chest when he smoothed his thumb across the sensitive spot on her wrist.

But Merlin, Severus Tobias Snape revelled in it.

* * *

 

Severus woke when he felt the press of gentle warmth pulling away from his lips, the slip of tender fingers drawing away from his hair, and even with his eyes closed he automatically reached to reclaim it. Continue it. Further it.

When his fingers met a soft, feminine form that stilled upon his contact, his eyes flew open and met faintly panic-stricken honey-brown ones.

“I… you had something on your… face,” Hermione mumbled, and colour flooded her pale cheeks. Her eyes were shining and bright and showed no hint of sleepiness.

He felt her breathing quicken rapidly, her warm back moving with the slight inhale-exhale beneath his fingers, and his hands were automatically re-adjusting to slide down to her waist.

“I did,” he agreed, his voice low and sleep-roughened still. He felt her shiver beneath his hands, and with tender pressure pulled her slowly down to bed again. “You wouldn’t happen to know how that happened, would you, Hermione?”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’ll just—“ Hermione’s words were breathless as he slowly slid his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, and dragged his calloused fingers across the sensitive spot of her lower back. She gasped and arched against his trailing fingertips.

But in that moment, Severus was honestly tired of their mincing around each other, and gently reached further for her. She brought him a peace, comfort, solace, like no other, and selfishly he asked for something purely for himself, something he hoped she wanted, too. Something they could share together and draw strength from, that would renew them and the bonds that bound them to each other in solidarity, in the face of the war they endured.

A relieving comfort that intimacy with a loved one could provide.

So, with that in mind, Severus reached up and kissed Hermione back, a chaste brush of his lips against hers at first, their breath mingling as he pulled back for a heartbeat; then returned for a second taste, pressing his warm mouth more tenderly against her lips, showing her how he adored her and cherished her and her company.

“Stay,” he murmured, sliding his hands to hold her hips now. Brought them closer until they fit against his.

“Severus,” she whispered, begged, protested, pleaded; her fingers tightened in his sleeping shirt, trembling.

“Stay here, with me,” he breathed against her throat, his mouth tracing butterfly kisses and tingling heat down, down, down… “Please, Hermione.”

His kisses deepened, and he moaned against her throat when he felt her instinctively move against him, warmth and heat burning from his mouth against her skin.

“Sleep with me.”

“Sleep?” she asked, and her head fell back with a faint mewl of pleasure. It exposed more of her pale, flawless throat, and the sound he made in his throat was a satisfied male purr of appreciation as he laved over her pulse-point with languid attention.

“If that’s all you want, yes,” he agreed, his voice husky and honest.

“I—I don’t know if that’s all I want,” she admitted, confused and unsure, hints of wanton desire coating her uncertain words.

“What do you want?”

“I… I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me—mmm…”

“Granted,” he breathed smugly against her lips some time later. Hermione just nodded at him in a happy, if rueful, daze. She was too worked up to complain—and did not seem to mind when she closed her eyes and bent her head towards him again, and he continued his thorough exploration of her mouth.

His lips caught hers immediately again thereafter, and began gently pressing before gradually widening, opening, offering more and drawing her in, and deepening into a pleasurable, passionate exchange. Her lips were soft, unsure, but eager, and he pressed his body closer to hers, feeling their heat rising alongside their tension. He moved from her mouth down the arc of her jaw to her throat—noting when she cried out, and, once, she even moaned his name aloud and begged him for more when she sank her nails into his side—before moving down to the edge of her neckline, but no further—

—until she started to undo her buttons, and pulled his mouth down further in invitation.

“More, please?” she requested less bashfully, and he eyed her carefully to judge her responses as he continued down, down, until the edge of satin heaved hotly beneath his lips, smoothing against his chin as their eyes met.

He waited for her reaction, and felt her shift slightly.

Settled half-across her, Severus lipped at the silky smooth edge of her bra, and waited for her decision.

“Off,” she said without a pause, and arched her back so he could reach behind her.

He did, and his mouth closed overtop of the perfect, soft, sensitive mound as he unclasped each hook, one by one.

He would never, ever, forget the next particular sound: Hermione taking a deep breath as the cool air hit her newly exposed chest when he drew her beautiful but now superfluous underwear down her arms. He took his time, teasing and taunting and torturing her, watching her face as her eyes darkened, watching her chest as her breathing hitched and her mounds were relieved of their confines and their soft, velvet nubs tightened into delicious points.

Nor would he forget the sound she made when his mouth closed over her fully erect nipples when he took each one into his hot, wet mouth in turn, a moment later when he threw her bra who-knew-where, and his hand rose up to caress the other to ensure they received his very dedicated, undivided attention.

And realised what she wanted when she moved fully onto her back, and pulled him by his shirt over her, and then his shirt over his head.

“Off,” she said, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

He smirked and nodded, and helped her pull it away, only distantly recognising the sound of it landing on the floor nearby.

They did not make it down to breakfast that day.

And they were considerably late to lunch.

** To be continued **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I'll write replies to comments this weekend! <3 to you all & happy December, readers!


	15. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tempest from the Lord

**Chapter 15: Hurricane**

When the knock came at their door to wake them, early afternoon, Hermione was the first to stir.

Still sleep-rumpled, she drew Severus' discarded white shirt closer and pulled it over her head as she padded to the door to see who it was.

_Probably Draco again…_ she sighed to herself. They should perhaps sit down and have a proper talk to settle things clearly, she mused.

She was just stepping into their front hallway when she felt the wards rippling, then the shattering and falling of Severus' considerable protective magic as the door burst open and Voldemort calmly stepped in, yet not at all composed as if he were there strictly for a social visit.

Then he turned his cold, bloodthirsty red eyes on her, and Hermione stilled, wand in hand, and forced herself to not react to him.

_He is not charging in. He does not have his wand raised. He has no reason to—_

_A madman doesn't need a reason,_ a part of her reminded coldly.

Hermione diverted her eyes to the ground—as if in deference—and lowered her wand, as much as it pained it, and took slow, even breaths.

"H-how may I serve my Lord? W-what does my Lord wish?" she asked, feeling her heart leaping up into her throat even as it pumped furiously, adrenaline fueling her.

But Voldemort merely watched her as he walked closer, slowly closing in on her, his arms at his side.

_Appraising me_ , she realised, unsure how to react.

"Did you know," he said, half to himself, now within arm's reach of her if he so wished, "What rumour reached me today, Mudblood?"

"No, sir. I wouldn't presume to—"

"Silence."

Hermione swallowed, her mind racing. Was he going to kill her, right there, in front of-

_Severus!_ She reached for him, mentally, in a panic.

_Why hadn't he shown himself? Surely he'd felt when the wards had been breached!_

"Now," Voldemort began again, circling her and tapping his wand against his crossed arms, his face twisted with haughty disgust. "It has come to my attention that you are distracting one of my more reliable Death Eaters. Is this true, do you think?"

Hermione's anxiety skyrocketed, and she tried to figure out whether she would be punished more for answering or remaining silent.

Fear blossomed in full when she shook her head, feeling small tremors building in her limbs in preparation for the Crucio she fully expected unleashed upon her person.

"Filth," he remarked dismissively, and wordlessly cast the Unforgivable.

Hermione was unsurprised when she fell to her knees, swallowing her sobs as the old, familiar tongues of agony attacked and ravaged her nervous system, leaving her eyes bulging and red with tears, shaking, in a blind haze of pain and disorientation. He would torture her to death, now. She knew he would. He could not have any other purpose that she could figure in her state of near-hysterics, not that she had much sense of self left as old fears and remembrances surged to the forefront of her mind.

Were there teams of Death Eaters outside the door, just waiting for their Lord's command to interrogate her, assault her, torture her, rape her, again and again and again and—

Hermione's grip on her sanity was loosening as that fear rose, higher and higher within her and she started to wonder if Voldemort had cast some kind of anxiety-inducing spell on her to exacerbate her reaction to him, or if she had truly turned into her own worst enemy.

"I'm not sure what enchantment you used to get his attention, though perhaps I should have one of the others interrogate you for a bit to see if you'd mind sharing it," Voldemort loomed over her with disapproval, his strangely calm voice penetrating vaguely through her fog of pain. "Especially if it could be used on your precious Order in return," he sneered. "But understand this, Mudblood whore, that if he ever fails, or shows any sign of being less than focused on his missions and directives from me, it shall be you who pays the price. Is that perfectly clear?"

Choking on her own acrid bile as it burned her throat, still shivering on the frigid ground—which Hermione knew he must have charmed to make her suffering more painful, though it was difficult to even make that connection in her weakened, stressed state—Hermione tried to nod, but it came off as some strange permutation of the Cruciatus' effect on her nervous system.

Then she found herself suddenly yanked to her feet—and higher—suspended in the air with her toes dangling off the ground as a solid band latched and tightened around her throat, sealing off her airway, and she was face-to-face with the most terrifying wizard in the world.

"I asked you if that was clear—you will answer me," he snapped viciously.

"Y-yes, sir," she tried, her voice paper thin, darkness building in at the edges of her vision as she gradually lost control of her sight with the oxygen deprivation. "I understand."

"Excellent to see you have some manners, in spite of your unfortunate upbringing. Serve your keeper well, then, and he shall not be punished. Regardless of your lamentable blood status, it seems you have some use to our cause at this time. You may continue your stay under his custody, for now. Any change in his performance will result in an immediate change in your condition, and I can guarantee it will not be for the better—for you. Severus, is that understood?" The Dark Lord looked over Hermione's shoulder then, and she knew Severus must have been standing at the edge of the room, watching.

"I thank you, my Lord, for such attention to my wellbeing. Please let me know if I am ever in danger of distraction. I am forever in your debt," Hermione heard his smooth tones, and felt a part of herself calm at his presence, even as another part of her wanted to strike at him for his lack of intervention regardless of his status as spy for the Order. "I am sorry you had to take time away from your duties to see to my… arrangements… directly. How can I serve you better?"

"We will discuss that in private," the Dark Lord promised, his gaze turning back to the suspended Hermione who was now gasping softly, her hands lifting to try and loosen the force around her throat. "For now, I recognize the good example you are leading for our younger recruits."

Hermione's attention and focus were slipping and her hearing was fading, as if down a tunnel, by this time, and she was only able to make out partial words as she struggled for air.

"Of course. Thank you, my Lord," his voice sounded slightly muffled, and she guessed his head was bowed.

Without another word Voldemort turned away from them both and strode from the room, absently dropping Hermione once he crossed the threshold. He was out of sight before she had regained her breath.

Severus had already put up a wall where the doorway had been, blocking off the entrance to his quarters, by the time he reached Hermione's trembling form, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get to her. All his natural grace and stealth had bled from his movements as he rushed to fold her in his arms and pull her up against his more solid, if thin, frame, murmuring words of reassurance and relief, rocking her even as he brought her to their bed to hold her to him.

By the time the last of the curse, fear, and adrenaline had worn off, Hermione had fallen into an exhausted sleep, her fingers tightly clenched in Severus' shirt as she rested against him, her breathing finally even in spite of its occasional hitch.

The Potion Master let his fingers comb through her hair or rub circles on her back through it all, desperate for her to calm, his own mind a blur of suspicion and doubt.

What had prompted Voldemort to invade his privacy like this, he wondered. His performance on his previous missions had been exemplary, he had been providing a steady stream of 'leaks' from the Order for the past months—admittedly, partly in order to preserve his position so he could continue to protect Hermione and retain her in his custody—and he had provided regular reports upon his return, always direct to the Dark Lord himself, after each mission. He had seen the snake-faced monster just hours earlier when he finished torching the bloody 'safe-house'! There had been no mention of Hermione at that time, other than the fact that he had mentioned he was returning to his rooms to excise some of his frustrations from the mission on her…

… Severus' petting pulled up short at that realization.

Had Voldemort come to 'reward' his good behaviour by coming to torture Hermione personally, as a show of support and personal attention?

A sick sense of reward, for one of his top Death Eaters? He wondered. Nausea nearly overcame him, then, when he realised how much worse this may have played out, if the 'reward' had been more public.

But was that it, or could there be some other explanation? It was just so strange—how could this have been punished? And why were there no other Death Eaters attending the Dark Lord? He never went anywhere alone, anymore…

Severus remained as calm as he could, collecting his thoughts as he returned to rubbing Hermione's back, pulling her closer as he drew the blankets up around her shoulders securely.

Were they being manipulated by someone else?

But who else would dare manipulate Voldemort?

Surely the Order would have sent him some sort of message, to prepare him, if they were putting Hermione at risk?

Not that another Death Eater, jealous of his position and power, could not have made up some kind of excuse, about Hermione distracting him, but who really paid that much attention to her—

His dark eyes widened in realisation.

Risky, yes, but he knew exactly who had done it. And he had a feeling he knew why.

* * *

Draco felt the presence behind him and walked calmly into a nearby hallway, less frequently used, that he knew would exit into a public sitting area, should he need it.

"Uncle?"

Severus nodded to the alcove that jutted out of the way of the traffic, and a doorway, previously hidden, revealed itself.

The younger man went through first, and Severus followed him. The doorway disappeared after both had crossed the threshold.

"I will say this once, Draco, and I hope you understand thoroughly," he began without preamble, his calm resolve strengthened by the knowledge Hermione was safely tucked away in his private lab, polyjuiced into an exact likeness of himself.

"Do you know what your foolishness wrought upon Miss Granger this morning?"

"I have no interest in your—"

"The Dark Lord tortured her directly. Congratulations, I hope your play for power got you exactly what you wanted, you spoiled, thoughtless child."

He moved to leave, then, but felt the desperate, restraining hand grab his robes.

"What do you mean?" demanded the young Malfoy, confused.

"I mean he walked into my suite, tortured Miss Granger to within an inch of her wits with the Cruciatus, nearly strangled her to death, and then dropped her to the ground and gave her a concussion. Thank you for bringing to light to our Lord how much I was in need of 'reward'. What were the words he used? Something about me setting a good example for younger recruits? Does this sound familiar, Draco?"

Draco's pale complexion dropped to a sickening, ashen pallor, and his widened eyes would have been nearly comical, had it not been under such disgusting circumstances. "I-I didn't think he'd do that—I meant to imply that having access to a Mudblood of one's own for one's own purposes would be a motivator for the newer Death Eaters, and—"

Severus cut the air with a dismissive hand, and Draco's words stilled.

"I have not told her that it was you who put this idea in His head, Draco, but you know she is not a stupid creature. Far, far from it. I assure you it will not take her long to figure it out. I suggest you take care if and when you next come across her, and refrain from making such suggestions in the future without fully considering their consequences."

Draco had the decency to look offended, if angry, and then remorseful at the rebuke, but his jaw clenched and he nodded once.

It was enough for Severus, and he let out a low breath as Draco let go of his sleeve—almost. His grip tightened one last time, and Severus rounded on him, his eyes full of fury.

"Is she all right?" the Malfoy asked quietly.

There were so many ways to answer that, but Severus settled for a belittling sneer in Draco's direction.

"She's a bloody Gryffindor," was all he replied, and stalked away, back to his lab.

**To be continued**

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: First post of 2016! Also, I've self-published my first terrible original fiction book! Funnily enough, Kobo directed me to categorize it as 'photography' when I first submitted it. It has no pictures or graphics of any kind, though. Oh dear, we're off to a rousing start for 2016, hahahahah! ("Isra" by 'Maud Lynn', yes the pen name is tongue-in-cheek, is out now on Kobo. It's a novella I wrote years ago, but I figured I'd put it out there.)
> 
> Many warm wishes to you wonderful readers for 2016, and have a fantastic week! Cheers!


	16. Subterfuge

#  **Chapter 16: Subterfuge**

 

Startled, Hermione glanced up and swallowed as she saw the dark-robed figure enter through the front of the lab; it took her a moment to recognise Severus as he swept the door.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her, concerned at her sudden stillness. He advanced no further, instinctively expanding his awareness for unseen threats, his magical signature tingling through the wards as they blanketed the room.

“Yes, fine; I was too wrapped up in these labels,” she said, holding up a specimen jar in one hand, her quill resting on the table beside her.

“Ha ha,” he arched his brow at her poor pun, and she smirked at him knowingly.

“Are they packed and ready to be delivered?”

She nodded and slipped the last phial in place in the crate open on the counter beside her. It was made of polished hardwood, engraved with runes and enchantments to protect the precious cargo it carried inside.

“I still can’t believe I’m supplying Death Eaters and the Dark Lord with common potions and arthritis remedies, of all things,” she mumbled scathingly, half to herself.

“The Cruciatus is used as frequently on his followers as it is on his enemies; remember who is closer to him and thus, closer at hand,” affirmed Severus, stepping closer until they were elbow to elbow. “They know I’ve tested every potion you’ve made, so they’re…” appreciative and grateful weren’t quite the right words…

“…disparagingly accepting of faster refills,” offered Hermione, her brow arched in a respectable impression of his own.

“Quite. It’s the insides of the bottles they’re most interested in. Come, supper will be ready soon. I’ll arrange these to be delivered later,” he touched her sleeve and her warm eyes lifted to his.

“I don’t suppose I get to join you on this foray to the great outdoors?”

It was his turn to still; and in that moment of hesitation her good humour and high spirits fell. As he paused, briefly, before turning to the door, he replied, “No. You are not to leave. It is safer for you here.”

Hermione’s expression evened and turned remote. “And we can’t risk me sending messages to the Order, now can we?” she said, her words tighter than she expected as they left her lips.

“This way,” he said unnecessarily, leading her back to their rooms.

Hermione cast one last glance back at the crate of potions before following Severus out.

* * *

 

She was waiting for him late that night when he returned from his meeting with Voldemort.

“You look tired,” she said, and scooted to the side of the bed, pulling the covers down for him in invitation.

Exhausted, he waved her gesture away with a limp arm. “Let the covers remain in place. I’m going to have a soak in the bath first,” he explained, collecting a change of clothes to bring with him.

“… Would you like help washing your back? Or hair?” Hermione asked quietly.

Severus’ stride came to a graceful halt.

She waited for a moment, her fingers tightening their grip on the warm duvet.

“You’re already dressed for bed,” he remarked, still turned away from her, but there was no remonstration in his tone.

There was a hint of a smile in her voice, when she replied. “I’m not made of sugar.”

_ No, no she wasn’t, _ he thought to himself. She was made of lioness’ courage and breathtaking intelligence, and more stubborn determination than anyone else he’d ever encountered. 

And she wanted to waste her formidable talents on him, of all people.

“If you’ve nothing better to do, then I suppose you would be acceptable company.”

She was grinning at him; he knew she was, even if he wasn’t looking at her.

“And if you ever feel the need to repay the favour, I would be most obliged,” she teased, following behind him.

_ Bloody Gryffindors,  _ he thought around his own internal grin, and some of his tiredness melted from his shoulders.

* * *

 

Hermione set her quill aside and tucked her loose hair behind her ear as she finished labelling the latest round of potions, unguents and topical ointments. Now that Severus was being called away more and more frequently—she could only assume that hostilities and ‘distractions’ were escalating with Voldemort’s preparations to launch a full-scale attack shortly—she was left on her own for longer and longer periods of time. For the most part, she secreted herself in the lab, where she could keep herself busy brewing; however it was lonely. She had almost considered sending a note to Draco that morning, if only to slam the door in his face if he decided to reply to it in person. At least they could have yelled at each other through the door for a bit.

The absence of the Potions Master had granted her the time she needed to evaluate her condition and situation, without him witnessing her tremors and minor breakdowns, though. She had come to terms with her current state—not that she was happy about it—and had decided that if nothing else, she was grateful to have had a measure of peace and safety, however temporary and fragile.

She still had her own goals, dreams and plans; her ultimate goal being the eradication of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but other smaller, more manageable goals and plans were still possible. Others still needed her, after all.

She felt the familiar shimmer of the wards as they recognised the only other potioneer in the compound, and her face lit with anticipation.

Severus entered and his stern countenance relaxed and warmed as their eyes met. Their linked jewellery shared their genuine happiness, seemingly multiplying it. He didn’t need  _ Legilimency _ to read her emotions when they were so plainly displayed.

Yes, others definitely still needed her in the meantime.

There would be plenty of time to rage about her situation later; more important was what she could do where she was.

* * *

 

“Here are the more… delicate-natured items requested,” Severus stepped into the sitting room and peered around, noting the man who waited for him.

“We’ll make sure these get to where they’re needed,” Dolohov nodded at the crates Severus delivered, lowering them from their orderly floating queue behind him to the counter at Dolohov’s right. “Your little apprentice has taken the bulk of the busy-work off your hands, I see,” the Death Eater remarked, picking up one of the phials and examining the labelling. “Though these are actually a bit more complicated, aren’t they?”

“I have tested each phial’s contents personally,” Severus affirmed coldly.

“Can’t risk a Mudblood poisoning us, can we, when you’re out in the field.”

Not reacting to the not-so-subtle threat, Severus folded his arms together to wait. “It allows me more time to further our cause, and the Dark Lord can thus employ me where I am needed most. She has even made improvements in many of the tinctures, as she has the spare time that I never did,” Snape replied, waiting for his summons to see Voldemort. The Dark Lord has asked him to remain for a time after his next delivery. “I understand a number of our brothers—and sisters—are now enjoying the benefits of having a second potioneer at their call.”

“I admit that her muscle-relaxants have done wonders for post-Cruciatus relief, Mudblood tart or not,” the other man said under his breath, not wanting to draw attention to his backhanded compliment to her skills. “Between you and me, I think just about everyone has something she’s made, since she took over your routine prescriptions.” 

Severus looked thoughtful at that for a moment, as Rodolphus Lestrange stepped through the door. The pureblood tipped his head at Severus. “He’ll see you now.”

With a nod to each man, Severus swept into the Dark Lord’s private study.

* * *

 

It was some time later when he rejoined Hermione in their lab, his conversation with Voldemort still circling in his head. There was something off about the entire visit; and moreso, about how much time his Master was spending at the compound instead of leaving to wreak havoc on the masses. The Dark Lord remained paranoid, to the point of ensconcing himself within his own compound.

Or, perhaps because of it.

And it was escalating.

_ “Nothing she touches, be it potion or ingredient, is to enter this room! She and her filth are not to stain the doorstep!” _

_ “I will ensure your own requests are personally fulfilled,” Snape had sworn, hand over his heart. _

Otherwise, it had been a fairly peaceful, normal visit with his Master… until he’d taken an interest in Hermione’s well-being again, later, towards the end of his interview.

_ “You give her leave with a wand, Severus. Granted, she knew her place and lowered it in my presence—you’ve trained her well—but that is not something your fellow brothers and sisters would appreciate. Keep her away from them over the next several weeks. And I expect her presence at the next Revel. She will behave accordingly, is that understood?” _

_ “Of course, my Lord,” he’d bowed low. “You honour me with your attention and consideration.” _

Voldemort’s new attentiveness to Hermione had unnerved him, but he held himself in check. 

Now, Severus stood at Hermione’s elbow, as usual, in the lab, brewing alongside her as they’d taken to doing when he was ‘home’—a maudlin joke between them. That a set of rooms in an  _ Fideliused _ prison residence had become ‘home’ was a testament to their accommodation of the situation. The cauldrons bubbled and steamed away on the burn-scarred counters before them, the humidity curling her long, now-tangled hair infinitely worse and the very air going thick and heavy with fumes. He truly felt ‘at home’, at ease, with the routine; having her beside him, and working together.

It was quiet work that evening, for the most part; Hermione had taken to labelling again as her current batch of head- and body-ache remedy steeped, and methodically she wrote the name of each potion in reddish-brown ink before affixing it to the bottle. Lost in his thoughts, Severus focused on his own work for Voldemort.

They’d been at it for several hours and Severus had gradually noticed his unofficial assistant becoming increasingly listless and clumsy as time wore on; neither trait was attractive, healthy or remotely safe considering their environment and line of work—even if she had relegated herself to simply tagging their work to identify it later. When she leaned forward to rest her head in her hand he stood back and observed her openly, clearly unimpressed and not revealing an inch of his concern.

“Return to our rooms,” he ordered, though patiently, as he faced her; his arms were crossed, his hair tied back, his face stern—but he was neither tense nor curt, simply direct.

“I’ll be finished soon, I just need to wait for this to—“

He sniffed disdainfully, before setting a non-verbal stasis charm on his own cauldrons. “I’ll walk you back. We’ll continue tomorrow. When did you last eat?”

“With you.”

He thought back, and his eyes narrowed.

“That was yesterday.”

“I’ve been busy. There’ve been  lots of—“

He barely withheld his glare. “Not another word. Come. You are eating, immediately.”

The fact that she barely put up even token resistance was more telling of her depleted condition than anything else. His Gryffindor lioness wasn’t even growling at him.

He strode from the room in a billow of inky robes, holding the door open for her as she followed him out before warding the exit again.

Neither spoke as they made their way back to their rooms; but luck had abandoned them that night. Severus remained impassive—barely—as they came across a pair of familiar blonds outside their suite’s entryway.

“Ah, Severus,” called Lucius genially, charm leaking from his words like snake oil, “We just came to invite you to dinner. Draco thought you may have been working late and forgotten to eat. Again,” he added with dry wit and an overdone eyeroll for emphasis. He clapped his hands together soundly once. “Now, put away your little—toy—and join us.”

Draco, Severus noted, was staring fixedly at Hermione, speculation and suspicion simmering in his narrowed eyes, lowered brow and thin-set lips. Thinking quickly, Severus appeared put-out and mildly resigned.

“Unfortunately, my ‘apprentice’,” he drawled, sneering the last word meaningfully, “Has left an unforgivable mess in the lab. I was just escorting her back—in disgrace—,” he shot her a disparaging glance, “before I returned. I can’t risk providing her with an opportunity to make things worse, or all the orders will need to be re-brewed. Such a waste of materials; I apologise, but perhaps we could reschedule when I’m at less of a disadvantage?”

Lucius actually laughed at that, touching his cane to his lips as the regarded the bushy-haired young woman, half-hidden behind the Potions Master. “And Draco had always objected her unfortunate competence. Perhaps he was distracted by her many charms, hm?”

His wintry gaze shifted to Severus, then, as he asked, softly, “But… Is she distracting you, too, I wonder, old friend?”

“She is a waste of time this evening and is being retired to her room before she does any more damage; now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take my leave to salvage whatever is left of my laboratory,” Severus snapped, patience fleeing as he opened his door and dragged Hermione roughly inside by her arm. “Stay here and contemplate your actions this evening. I’ll be back to deal with you shortly,” he addressed her angrily, before slamming the door and warding it shut against entry and exit, not giving her a chance to argue.

“Another time, Lucius, Draco,” his gaze blistered them as he swept past, returning the way he’d come on his way back to his lab.

For a moment, then two, Lucius and Draco stood there; Lucius thoughtful, Draco incensed.

“Did you see that, Father?” fumed the young man, angry on Hermione’s behalf.

Touching the top of his cane to his lips once more in contemplation, Lucius nodded once, slowly, before turning his gaze on the door before him. Not missing the way Severus had kept himself between the Mudblood and his visitors the entire time, or the way he’d worn a pendant now that—if Lucius didn’t miss his guess—matched that of his little ‘pet’, or how, try as she might, the little tart had obviously been concealing a wand up her sleeve. Her wand-hand being hidden up her sleeve was too obvious a tell.

It was clear as day.

“Indeed I did, Draco. I did.”

* * *

**To be continued**


	17. Shatter

**Chapter 17: Shatter**

Voldemort looked out the tall window of his private sanctuary within the compound, not acknowledging the visitor kneeled behind him.

Time passed as the Dark Lord stood, hands folded behind him, in contemplation. Still focused on something only he could see, Voldemort eventually lifted a hand and negligently dismissed Lucius Malfoy.

"My Lord," murmured Lucius, kissing the robes before him reverently, and taking his leave.

* * *

Hermione slept in the next day.

And the day after that.

She still woke, after a very late morning, and brewed; but there was a listlessness to her actions.

Severus noted she was never inattentive or lazy, or careless, since that first night; but there was a definite… lack of her usual energy and zeal.

After the fourth day, he ran subtle diagnostic spells over her body as she slept, and could only determine that she was not diseased, per se, but rather… anemic; for no reason that he could determine. Stranger still, she still had not asked him to reverse the charm that suppressed her menses; so she wasn't losing her iron through that condition. And she had not spoken to him about it further.

Holding her close to him beneath their warm duvet, Severus pondered what was going on. A fog of uneasiness had been seeping over him since that night the Dark Lord had taken an interest in Hermione, and Lucius' visit that same evening had planted a deep-rooted sense of paranoia in his psyche. Others were building, plotting against them; steadily, surreptitiously, carefully, insidiously. Was it only the Dark Lord? Lucius? Lucius and Draco?

Another thought gripped Severus, then—and he ran his hands, and wand, over every inch of Hermione's body one more time.

After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, he lowered his wand and lay back down against the headboard, as relieved as he was confused.

There were no wounds on her body, outside of a small scrape on her finger, likely from slicing ingredients; she wasn't blood-letting, or cutting, herself. No signs of a curse, either.

But… how, what was affecting her iron-levels? Nothing in their diet or activity had changed…

There was something in her blood; it had to be.

Exhausted, Severus closed his eyes, still holding Hermione to him in their bed. They would need to talk in the morning.

* * *

The morning brought an awful row, and Hermione refused to even leave their rooms.

Severus left to brew alone.

* * *

The dark-haired man was a mess, emotionally, when he returned to his quarters that night. Irritation, wasted time, concern about Hermione's lingering condition and the Malfoy's interference warred within him, leaving him in a particularly harassed, foul state. As he approached his rooms, he distantly made out the sound of emotional, muffled, rapidly escalating yelling.

Raising his wand unconsciously, he listened, wordlessly casting a spell to clear and amplify the conversation. The first voice he made out was Hermione's, unsurprisingly.

"… almost ready; I just need more time!"

"—don't have any more time. I know… want to save him, but can't save everyone… get you out of the way…"

The second voice, the one which caused his heart to clutch, belonged to Draco. Severus felt something akin to physical pain in his chest as the younger man's voice softened and became more earnest.

"… not worth the risk, Hermione… already lost you, twice… love you… take… to a safe place… tell him… out of the way… have to follow orders… I'm sorry, Hermione…"

He could barely make out Draco's words at the end, but his tone, too sincere, was impossible to mistake for anything but that of a man begging forgiveness.

"I'll talk to him… protect… leaving soon…"

Severus's hearing failed him as Hermione's voice gentled in response.

Feeling more than hearing the wards on the door dropping, Severus cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and slipped into the shadows down from his doorway, watching Draco peer about outside before letting himself out.

Just before he closed the door behind himself, Draco turned to Hermione.

"I've done all I can, love."

Hermione reached out and touched Draco's face—

"Thank you, darling. Remember to play along, all right? No matter what. Take care."

Draco smiled at her—truly smiled at her—and turned his head just enough to kiss her upraised palm, murmuring,

" _Always."_

—and tore a hole through Severus' heart.

* * *

**TBC**


	18. Overcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No way out

**Chapter 18: Overcome**

Used.

A fool.

Deceived—and by a pair of students half his age.

Humiliated at being so manipulated and mortified—again—Severus locked himself in the bathroom that night and heaved until he had nothing left in him.

_Out, out out,_ he itched to bellow but could barely breathe, choking on the icy nausea that roiled through him. Not again, not after waiting so long, being so alone, giving up everything and thinking he'd finally found…

_Out, out, out!_

The _Muffliato_ he cast must have worked, as Hermione barely glanced at him that night when he finally dragged himself to bed. His betrayal left his mouth bitter, no matter what he did.

—but it was a bludger to him when she still curled against his side in her sleep.

_Out, out, out, bloody, stupid, useless emotions!_

He cursed until his bloodshot eyes and clenched teeth exhausted the last of his reserves. Feeling broken-boned and defeated, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It was Severus' turn to sleep in late the next morning.

Hermione ordered their breakfast from one of the house elves, had tidied their rooms and had left his meal for him—along with a bracing cup of tea—on his night table. A cursory note was propped on top, he read blearily, advising him that he could join her in the laboratory when he was feeling better.

He burned it.

With fiendfyre.

* * *

She watched him.

He knew she was doing it—she wasn't being subtle, by any stretch of the imagination, even for a Gryffindor—and he ignored her.

Hermione scratched another few labels out, diligently centering and pressing them to the enspelled jars they adorned, and peered up at him again.

But he had nothing left for her, and didn't bother to question her.

"I'm just about finished with these labels—do you need me for anything else?"

And now she was in a rush to return to their quarters, probably to meet with Draco 'on the sly' again.

He sneered at her, but it held no sway over her any longer; or satisfaction for him, either.

"You're dismissed."

Her brow furrowed at the odd tone, but after a moment or two more, she nodded and with a quick sweep of her workspace, quietly left him alone.

Only after she'd gone did he pick up one of the jars and simply look at her handwriting. She handled all the labelling and organization.

Her presence was everywhere around him, permeating his existence: on the shelves in his storeroom; in the cupboards of his fellow Death Eaters, in his own living quarters.

The only thing left untouched was the Dark Lord, who'd expressly forbidden any hint of her presence in his.

_Until the next Revel._

Oh, no.

He closed his eyes and focused his breathing as realization set in.

Merlin's balls, what had he done? Saved her only to use her, sacrifice her later? Merely delayed the inevitable with the pending 'celebration'?

The jar he held made a thump as he set it roughly down on the table, before he covered his face with his hands and bent over, sickened and overwhelmed.

_Who had betrayed who?_

* * *

"You'd already told me escape was futile from this place; and the Order won't take me back in anyway, since I'm so compromised it isn't funny. Think, Severus! This is the only safe place for me!" Hermione argued after supper.

They sat on the same settee, but now at opposite ends where before they had cuddled together.

In fact they faced off against each other that evening, affection and intimacy forgotten.

"Surely the 'Greatest Witch of her Age' can come up with something," he seethed, his words biting and unfair. He hadn't come up with anything, either. "You've only been here nearly a year."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, her lips pressing together in a thin, white line.

"Really, has it been that long? The days were just flying past, it's been such a circus of fun," she snapped back. "Maybe I'll just go give Ron and Harry a quick ring and invite them over to join me!"

Livid, he lunged to his feet. "You'll do no such thing! You shall leave and never come within a hundred thousand miles of this place, or me, ever again!"

Pacing wickedly like a caged panther, Severus prowled from one side of the room to the other, occasionally running a hand through his unbound hair.

"Why, why is this so difficult to understand? Ungrateful bint," he cursed under his breath again.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Gee, I could never guess why it would be so difficult to understand a man who doesn't explain himself, his demands, or his actions. You're completely right, this is all me."

He shot her a glare, but didn't stop his pacing.

"What has you so wound up?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he lied.

"Bollocks," she countered, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him. "You think I can't call your bluff, after all this time together? You think I don't know when something is carving you out from the inside? Severus, stop, just look at me, please."

"So self-important you get to make demands of me, now? You're a testament to your house, Miss Granger,—"

But Hermione had had enough, and hearing her name as if she were returned to her former student status was the last straw.

"Oh, go fuck the fucking 'houses', Severus Snape!" she screamed, leaping to her feet and going toe-to-toe with him; she was tired of him having such a looming advantage over her. He couldn't help but stare at her as she cursed lividly.

"This isn't Hogwarts, there's no Sorting Hat, you can't take House Points, and to be perfectly frank, it's bloody insulting you dare bring up such trivial things when we're fighting a war that has already cost both of us dearly, personally, and repeatedly!"

Barreling along, she shoved a finger into Severus' chest, zapping him slightly, unconsciously, when he tried to bat her hand away.

He glared at her fiercely for that, but she ignored him.

"I want to know what's gotten into you and why you're being such a complete and utter prat!"

"Because the Dark Lord has been toying with me and intends to murder you at the next Revel in front of every Death Eater he has! And it's all some kind of sick 'reward' to me for how wonderfully helpful I've been recently!" he finally exclaimed, spittle flying from his mouth.

"He's… what?" Hermione lowered her wand, her head tilting to the side, her brow furrowed.

"He has been intending to use you as entertainment at the next Revel. It's supposed to happen just before the next attack, the big attack, on Potter and the Order. To motivate everyone," he bit out the ugly details. "You're their star attraction. Unless I can get you out of here before then. Which is why you need to disappear."

"You can't," she said simply.

"Of course I can, it's just a matter of finding a safe enough place for you until the Revel itself—which is why I need to know if you have any contacts left with the Order," he argued. "For safety reasons they had to cut me out of even the most basic of correspondence months ago, so I don't even know where the rest of the safe houses are."

Her long wavy hair swirled gently in front of her face as she shook her head at him in sympathy.

"You can't, Severus. I've said it before—there's been no exchange, no communication with me. No one has come for me. I've been assumed dead, as far as I can tell," her words were hollow and a bit distant. "I've been on my own here with you."

"Not that alone," he muttered, turning away from her to pace again. He mentally cursed; he hadn't meant to say that aloud. He was losing his touch, his self-discipline, and all because of her.

"Excuse me?"

He swiped at the air, his attention turned inwards; as such, he missed Hermione's brows drawing together in confusion and irritation.

"Again, how am I supposed to…" _Assist? Support? Explain?_ She closed her doe-coloured eyes a moment and rubbed at the tender spot building between them.

"Severus," she began again when he didn't bother filling in the void with conversation; she found herself exhausted trying to figure him out but she just didn't know where to go with him anymore.

Hearing his pacing slow and feeling she had his attention once more, she opened her eyes to find him watching her, emotions playing subtly across his wide, hurt eyes.

"… Severus, what do you want from me?"

His mouth opened and shut several times before his lips thinned and formed a tight, white line; then he shook his head once as his eyes feasted on her features as if she was the most wonderful, delicious treat he could never, ever indulge in.

—and his jaw tightened when he spun on his heel and walked away.

"Nothing," he replied.

* * *

**To be continued!**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: With "FF II" complete I get to spend this month writing chapters 19 & 20! Wish me luck, darlings, we're down to our last two chapters. If you have any questions, feel free to send me an Ask on tumblr (username beyondthemoor) if you aren't comfortable asking here. Let me know what you're thinking, and happy April! Hold on tight, the last curve is the tightest!


	19. Invictus Arduis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Revel

**Chapter 19: Invictus Arduis**

The laughter, music and raucous noise echoed eerily down the stone corridors as Severus and Hermione approached the hall. Drunken Death Eaters, their guests and pets jeered at Hermione as Severus gripped her bicep and drew her along beside him.

"He's expecting us," he said quietly as they moved through the throngs.

"So is everyone else," she replied, keeping pace with him as best she could.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was still pale and wan, but her head was held high.

"Stop it," he counselled her.

"Stop what?"

"Your foolish pride. It will only make it worse."

Through the jeers she could finally make out the heady beats of music charging the air around them.

"I'll take my chances," she said, setting her shoulders.

He closed his eyes a moment.

"Please reconsider," he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"No."

She felt him squeeze her shoulder, his fingers quick and strong but trembling the slightest bit, as he nodded.

"As you wish."

Hermione heard the note of defeat in his voice and forced herself to keep her gaze forward instead of meeting his eyes.

The door appeared before them and the shouts and cries rose to a crescendo around them as they walked through to join the main revellers.

"Ah, Severus! I see you brought your pet!"

The familiar voice curdled the bare contents of Hermione's stomach and she looked up to find the Dark Lord Voldemort grinning down at them from his raised dais. His sleeves were rolled back and his chest rose and fell excitedly as he looked her over. "Well, someone recovered better than expected. Or, at all!" He cackled, and the crowds joined in, sneering at her and some pelting her with food bits.

Minor hexes thrown her way stung her skin and scraped her raw in places, but Hermione held her head high.

After a moment she felt the hexes stop, and realized Severus must have cast a silent _protego_ over them.

She was about to thank him with a murmur when the Voldemort raised his wand at her.

The cruel smirk on the madman's face was her only warning.

" _Crucio_."

She fell to the ground.

Severus had let go of her arm.

* * *

He cursed himself for having eaten anything as he saw Hermione writhe on the filthy stones as Death Eaters spat on her, kicked her, cursed her.

He'd rarely fought a harder battle than he did in the moment he'd watched the Dark Lord torture Hermione all over again and again and again.

But she didn't scream.

He saw the blood flow from her broken nose down her mouth and chin and its splatters on the front of her shirt. The shirt he'd bought her.

The jewelry she wore was broken, but still he felt her terror and fear and pain through their bond.

And her shame.

So much shame.

Anyone else and he would have torn his accompanying piece from himself and cast it into a pit, freeing him from sharing her fate. He refused to let go of it, let go of her, let her suffer alone at this moment. He wished he could reach out to her.

He wished he could end her life for her and stop this.

But the Dark Lord had commanded that none could cast a killing curse.

Yet.

Severus fought down the bile as someone picked Hermione up and dragged her to the far side of the room. Others lined up.

A firing squad.

He couldn't control the shudder that ran down his spine and settled in and unsettled his stomach.

* * *

Taunting her. They taunted her by never hitting her anywhere fatal, by constantly moving her around the room.

By the time she was dumped in front of Voldemort's grotesque throne her blood surrounded the room, from corner to corner in a ring. Walls and floors were painted with it.

Still she breathed.

Her pulse was weakening, though. He barely felt her through their bond any longer.

He'd failed her.

He'd failed everyone.

"Draco!"

The young Malfoy, his eyes strained and back straight, approached the dais. He knelt fluidly with the grace of a true Purebloods, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robe.

"Bring her to me."

"Immediately, my Lord," the boy replied.

As Draco stood he caught Severus' eye and communicated something to him; but Severus was too mentally battered to read the young man's expression clearly. His own mind was too full of anguish and occlumency to cast legilimens across the distance. His walls were crumbling, he could barely hold them up. Swallowing shallowly, Severus scanned the crowds, gauging their reactions. Was anyone watching him at that moment? Could he get away with casting Avada and saving her from whatever had been planned next?

Then he heard the murmurs and gasps, and his focus returned to Hermione and Draco.

Draco, who had knelt and picked up Hermione in his arms.

Draco, who now carried her across the floor to stand before Voldermort's dais. It was some kind of macabre theatre, his steps dramatic and slow.

"Did you forget you had access to magic, son?" snapped his father. Lucius' incredulous sneer was full of scorn and disbelief. His hand was tight around his wand, knuckles white.

"Yes. Why sully your hands in such filth, Draco?" asked the Dark Lord, his tone mocking.

"To feel the life leave her body, my Lord," replied Draco, head high and confident. He took another step, then another.

There were scattered jeers at that, but Draco held what was left of Hermione firm against his chest.

"Draco—," began Lucius once more, but the Dark Lord lifted a finger, effectively silencing his sycophants.

"So be it," said Voldemort.

Severus had never in his life so much envied and despised Draco.

And then Draco caught Severus' eye, and Severus swallowed his breath as he read Draco's intentions. Or rather, Hermione's.

* * *

The potions.

Every Death Eater had them. Everyone she'd brewed, or had a hand in preparing. Even those that Severus had been preparing on his own—or so he thought. She had swapped plenty of them out, replaced them with her own brews.

Every ingredient had passed through her hands.

Every bottle, she'd labelled. By hand.

In her own red-brown, 'muddy' blood.

"Did you do it?" Draco whispered, his voice barely moving as he carried Hermione closer to Voldemort's bony bare feet.

"Yes," she wheezed.

"Can… can you finish?"

Her eyes drifted shut as she felt for the shards of her wand that had been embedded in her skin. Though weakened she felt the familiar tingle respond and flow just beneath the surface of her skin.

With a pull, deep inside, she gathered her magic to her core.

"Yes," she breathed.

"And him?" Draco had no need to specify which 'him'. She knew. She knew all too well.

A tear welled at the corner of Hermione's eye. It was all she had left.

"Goodbye."

With deliberate grace Draco came to a stop and knelt in front of Voldemort, holding Hermione across his lap, offering her up in final sacrifice.

**TBC**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: My sincerest apologies; I'd hoped to finish this story up for you last month, but April turned into a monumental cluster. XD Here's to a far better May! One chapter left, then the epilogue. I can hardly believe it.
> 
> An extra warm thank you to everyone who's been reviewing; you have no idea how much it means to me after the last few weeks I've gone through.


	20. Lumen Vincit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infection and cauterizing a wound.

**Chapter 20: Lumen Vincit**

" _And what do we do if you're captured, 'Mione?" whined Ron as they sat around the scored kitchen table late one night at Grimmauld Place._

_Hermione looked up from the dusty tome she studied. It was a muggle book this time, about human anatomy and the history of vaccines. She needed a night off curses and counter curses... and vaccines gave her hope, in a comforting way. You could fight a great evil by turning it to your own advantage. She enjoyed the notion greatly._

" _Keep going, obviously," she said, turning back to her book._

_Ron huffed, but Harry sighed, resting his head on his raised fist, elbow planted on the table._

" _I just think it's too risky. You… you know what they would do to you."_

_Shaking her hair out of her face, Hermione read on._

"' _Mione," said Harry, voice harder than before._

" _It won't be anything worse than what they will do to_ all _muggleborns if they win, Harry. One for the many. The light will win this." She looked up and held his gaze in her amber one. "We'll make sure of it."_

" _Yes, but how are we going to do that?" huffed Ron in a put-upon tone._

" _All this mumbo jumbo about blood purity, as if muggleborns are a disease that needs to be outed. What we need is some kind of disease to infect them," said Harry, reaching for his pumpkin juice._

" _Yeah, but you'd have to find a way to introduce it. Get it into their 'body', right?" said Ron, pushing a spoon until it flipped over, then doing it over and over again. He recalled some of what Hermione had explained earlier when he'd asked what she was reading. That was about the extent of it, but he was quite chuffed he'd gotten that far._

" _We need someone on the inside," agreed Harry. "But who do we know, what Death Eater, would ever risk themselves in order to help the Order? Who could we trick? Or bribe? Or..." He shook his head._

_Ron flipped the spoon too hard, sending it flying off the table; unconsciously Hermione was already accio'ing it back._

" _Thanks, 'Mione. So we need to infect one member to get inside their main stronghold, and from there, infect the rest? With what?"_

_Across from the boys, Hermione stilled._

" _We infect one of our own and spread once we're on the inside," Hermione thought aloud._

_She looked up from her manuscript and accio'd a parchment and paper with lightning speed._

_Her eyes glowed as she gave Harry and Ron a determined look._

" _I've got it."_

* * *

_**At the Revel** _

Lord Voldemort's poise slowly faltered as Draco lifted Hermione higher for his perusal.

Bruised, bloody and broken she lay limp in Draco's arms.

To Severus' surprise, the Dark Lord's mirth and merriment faded, like a shadow fading to night, as he approached the young pair. His crimson eyes focused on Hermione's prone form and then he reached out, one long, disturbingly narrow-fingered hand, to touch Hermione's cheek.

"I had hoped that you would fight harder, little mudblood. Did Severus break your spirit before we could?" He crooned his words as he stroked the mottled skin of her face, careful not to touch any of her blood. "Hmm? Any last words? You are welcome to utter them. I'll be sure to send them to Harry Potter tomorrow. You'll be remembered as the first casualty of the final battle. Probably the finest honour you would ever obtain on your own merits."

His bony fingers caught in a snag in her bloody, matted hair and he wrinkled his serpentine face, as if he'd just stepped in excrement.

"Well?" he demanded, straightening and untangling his hand from her hair. "What do you wish me to share of your final moments, tomorrow, with Potter?" he spat, disgusted.

There was a moment of quiet through the room as a hush fell in anticipation of Hermione's last words.

Then, a low hum resounded, vibrating first in one corner, then spreading until the room rang with it, louder and louder.

Voldemort looked around, and Severus recognized wariness in his gaze.

"Lucius," called Voldemort.

"My Lord," bowed Malfoy.

"What trickery is this—"

The humming got louder, and soon the room began to brighten. At first soft like candle light, then growing more and more insistent, quickly pulsing and turning harsher. The revelers turned away from it and tried to leave, only to find they couldn't cross over the beams of light.

They were trapped.

The assembled crowds murmured amongst each other before first one, then another, finally more and more fell to their knees with cries and moans of pain, their arms and legs jerking uncontrollably as the brightness around them soon blinded and burned them like a sun.

"What's the meaning of this!" demanded Voldemort, head whipping around. Then he, too, stumbled, his legs giving way beneath him for a moment before he grabbed hold of his dais.

Completely unaffected by the light but frozen in his spot, Severus met his gaze. In the same moment realization dawned in Voldemort's gaze, Severus realized he and Draco were the only ones spared whatever debilitating curse the unearthly, cursed light cast around them.

It shone from all four corners of the room… and from Hermione's own body.

Everywhere Hermione's body had been dragged, Severus thought, eyes widening.

Her blood.

She had been holding and controlling a curse in her own blood.

She had been labelling the bottles in his store rooms for months using her own blood.

That was why she was so weak.

She wouldn't have needed to syphon her own blood; she was transferring the curse to each and every Death Eater in Voldemort's ranks…

Severus' eyes shot to Draco.

Still holding Hermione aloft, Draco's arms were shaking but he held firm, swallowing tightly.

"Traitors," seethed Voldemort, looking between Draco and Severus. His eyes glowed as he raised his wand, spittle flying from his mouth as his skin peeled away from his rotten bones in chunks.

Around them the revelers screamed and moaned in pain as the curse took hold of them. The stink of burning flesh permeated the air and Severus raised his own wand to cast a bubblehead charm around himself, Draco and Hermione… then kept his wand ready, eyes on the Dark Lord.

"Twice, Severus?" queried the Dark Lord, his voice nearly lost in the burning light that engulfed the room. His brittle arm still held enough strength to shoot a barrage of curses at his Potions Master, and Severus deflected them and dove for cover.

"He had… nothing… to do with this…"

Hermione's hoarse voice rasped out her words as Draco's arms weakened, and together they fell to the ground. His skin sweating and blistering, it seemed even Draco did not escape the full range of the curse.

"Final… words…" she began, voice failing.

But Voldemort had whirled and pointed his wand at her, fury dripping from his every pore.

"Lumen—" Hermione gasped. Draco grabbed her hand, squeezing it for strength.

" _Avada—!_ " Voldemort shrieked, completely unhinged.

"Vincit," she breathed, falling limp.

The room rose to an inferno before it exploded.

She didn't feel Draco fall atop her to protect her.

—Nor Severus throwing himself over both of them as the stone walls shattered and the screams rose to a crescendo.

* * *

_**In Belfast** _

"What's… Ron, turn up the telly!" shouted Harry, leaping out of his armchair in the muggle hotel. He hurled cushions out of his way in his desperate search for the remote before leaping towards the flatscreen.

Looking up from his box of take-out, Ron blinked and set his food down, reluctantly.

"Telly? Oh, the picture-box. The dial… button… which one was it? _Ooph!_ "

Harry shoved Ron out of the way and jammed the volume button on the television until the newscast blared through their room.

"Everyone, come here!" shouted Harry, shooting Patronus after Patronus out the end of his wand.

His famous eyes were glued to the screen as the anchor continued,

"— _unable to explain the strange phenomena that erupted behind us minutes ago in a former agricultural parish near Dundee, Scotland. Shaped like a phoenix, as you can see, it continues to burn incandescently like an artifice or firework, above the ruins of a castle. Investigators are on their way. In the meantime, on the line we have our special effects correspondent live from California to discuss…"_

"She's alive," breathed Ron, going pale. "Harry, she's—"

"Not for long if she just did that," said Minerva McGonagall as her hand flew to her throat. "Boys, we need to—"

Harry had already disappeared with a crack of apparition.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Written tonight so possibly rougher than usual as I'm trying to finish this story up. Epilogue coming! (I can hardly believe I started this story in 2011 and am thisclose to finishing.) Many, many heartfelt thanks to everyone who has reviewed and wished me well.
> 
> For those who (like me) rely on Google Translate for their latin, the title "Lumen Vincit" translates to "Light overcomes".


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The Order arrived to a smouldering ruin of chaos and emergency response units both magical and muggle.

"—don't even know where it came from. We have a record of this structure being destroyed over a hundred years ago and it's been nothing but forest and field since..."

"—couldn't have been gas lines, obviously, because there was nothing to hook gas lines up to!"

"—does it look like it could have been done to terrorists, lieutenant? Who were they terrorising? The sheep?"

Rushing through the assembled crowds, Harry and Ron pushed and shoved their way to the thickest throng of bystanders and medics and emergency personnel inside the still-smoking structure to discover the stone-walled room of cremated remains. Above them the ceiling and roof of this particular room had been blown off by some kind of explosion; square bricks of rock and stone littered the grounds outside in a disturbing radius of destruction. It had been no small blast; yet it was completely localized to that particular room. The rest of the castle ruins were nearly untouched by the recent activity.

From inside the cover of his sleeve, Harry gripped his wand and murmured, "Point me," focusing all his attention on Voldemort.

Yet automatically his body found its way to the pile of hollow, grey-black bones that emanated a slimy miasma of evil and disgust. Behind it was coiled a ring of finer bones with an oversized, diamond-shaped skull.

"This was like fiendfyre, Harry," whispered Ron as Harry stared incredulously at the remains of Voldemort and Nagini. "But this is something else. It's almost like it was…"

"Purifying," said Harry.

"Yes."

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the bones. How many years had they spent fighting smaller battles for the largest one to take place between one person and an entire army? Safely tucked away from the rest of society so there would be no innocent bystanders at risk?

"Point me," said Harry with a chilled, terse voice.

She had to be there.

She had to have made it.

After all her sacrifices, her brilliant plan and her unmeasurable bravery, she had to have made it.

He focused his entire magical core on his memories of Hermione.

"Point me," he repeated more fiercely.

His wand didn't so much as twitch.

"Point me!" Harry shouted, shaking his wand and spinning around to glare at the wreckage of the room, as if Hermione may be hiding beneath one of the many piles of ashes.

Yet his wand remained still of its own volition… until it twitched downwards, at the dark blotch against the stones at their feet, before Voldemort's broken skull.

Harry felt the chill to his bones.

"NO!"

"Mate!" hushed Ron, grabbing Harry's arm and shoving it down when people began to stare and quietly murmur in their direction. "Shhhh. C'mon. She's not here. She must have made it out."

Harry swallowed, his heart beating in his throat.

"Where did she go, Ron?" demanded Harry. His clammy hands shook and yet he was filled with determination. If she was out there, they would find her and she had to be out there because she was Hermione Jean Granger and if anyone could have found a way out, it was her.

"We'll talk to Professor McGonagall, she'll know how to find her," said Ron, dragging Harry away. "Calm down, mate."

"Hermione," said Harry, unable to tear his eyes away from the pool of blood burnt into the floor of the ruined room.

Refusing to look at the dark mark staining the floor, Ron swallowed and pushed out through the crowds.

* * *

Severus cradled Hermione in his arms as Draco hurriedly spoke the required words in Hermione's ears—

"Severus Snape lives in Spinners End, Manchester—"

—before Severus' door crashed open and they rushed inside, slamming it shut behind them again and barring it with industrial-strength enchantments.

"Accio blood replenishing potion, skelegrow, boiling water, pewter cauldrons in sizes four, seven and thirteen—" barked Severus as he wandlessly cleared and cleaned his shabby living room space.

"Reparo," cast Draco on the sofa and the dining room table, before transfiguring a ratty blanket into clean bedsheets. He looked to Severus who jutted his chin towards the table.

Draco added a cushioning charm and Severus set Hermione down gently and firmly before stripping her filthy clothes from her body in quick, efficient movements. There was no time for propriety, they had to get her breathing again.

"Accio burn paste," added Severus as he sliced open Hermione's socks to remove them, too.

"She isn't burned," said Draco, hurrying to the kitchen to clean his hands with soap and water while Severus cast scourgify and other disinfection spells anywhere he safely could over Hermione's prone body.

"You are to look after yourself before you risk contaminating her," said Severus as he set to work on healing Hermione. "And then you can explain when you involved Hermione in making your blasted horcrux, you insufferable _dunderhead_!"

Draco's eyes flew open and his hands stilled at Severus' words. His Adam's apple bobbed but he pressed his lips shut in a desperate effort not to incriminate himself further.

"Don't just stand there, get me three ounces of willow bark and start grinding!"

Snape's harsh commands snapped Draco out of his stupor as he raced to the stairs to the basement lab to collect the ingredients with the fastest accio he'd ever cast.

* * *

_**Several days later** _

"No," said Harry. His viridian eyes were hard and uncompromising as he glared at Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt. "We go out there together. If Hermione's still missing, then we aren't together."

"Mister Potter," said Shacklebolt in a kind and firm voice. "We understand you want to wait for confirmation, but we need to move forward."

"She isn't dead. I would know if she was."

McGonagall and Shacklebolt glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

"You did say, when you first entered the ruins…" began McGonagall gently.

Harry shook his head. "No, she's still out there. We need to find her!"

"And once we complete the inauguration we will. But we need to show the people you are safe and we have proof, true proof, of Voldemort's demise. We need peace, not uncertainty." Shacklebolt laid a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "And believe me, we want to find Hermione, too. She deserves more recognition and respect than we could ever offer her."

Harry looked up at Shacklebolt's genuine words and saw the compassion shining back at him from the man's dark eyes.

"But we need you with us when we go out there to reassure everyone that the time for fear has passed, and the time for rebuilding and healing is upon us."

With a shallow swallow and a slump of his shoulders, Harry nodded once.

"The faster we get through this, the sooner we send out another search party for Hermione," promised Shacklebolt.

* * *

His feet splayed out in front of him, his elongated form slumped back and sunk into his worn sofa, Severus rested his eyes and exhausted body. Across from him in a bourgeois sitting chair he'd transfigured from the kitchen dining set, Draco rested his heavy head on the backrest and snoozed, his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest.

Between them on the kitchen table, Hermione breathed unassisted but heavily. She still hadn't woken.

The fidelius charm had held, and would forever, it seemed, unless Draco and his horcrux were defeated.

" _We needed a place that would be safe for her escape," he'd tried to explain to Severus._

" _You split your soul!" had bellowed Severus. "The one thing the Headmaster forced me under oath to protect and you threw it away!"_

" _For her!"_

Severus' next words had blistered the cracked paint on the walls and scorched Draco's good intentions to the ground.

" _It was her, wasn't it? You killed Hermione to create your horcrux," had said Severus as they had watched over Hermione's healing body._

_Draco's shoulders had slumped as his face had slowly lowered into his palms._

" _She goaded me into it. I figured out she was using me to get information and…" Draco let out a sick sigh. "She created the curse and inoculated me before I understood what she was doing, planning. Then she tricked me into…" He shook his head. "I panicked as soon as I realized what happened and did the muggle CPR on her, and she coughed and threw up but she breathed again and Uncle, I was never so scared as I was that day… But I knew I couldn't save her or protect her. I needed your help. So I brought her to you. I knew you would protect her."_

_Draco looked up at Severus, then. He hesitated before adding, quietly,_

" _She inoculated you, too."_

_He stared at Severus before dropping his gray eyes and rubbing at his pale face. Draco looked far older than his youthful years in that moment. Old, worn, haggard, exhausted. Hardly the genteel noble he'd been raised to be, the Draco before Severus now was more of a reflection of the shriveled, shredded, tattered soul he had acquired._

This was the cost of victory for the light. The youth giving up their innocence in every sense in order to topple a fanatical dictator and selflessly restore the freedoms of nameless, countless, faceless others.

Severus could only wonder at the fact that Hermione had managed this miracle motivation not once, but twice.

For not only Draco had changed for the light, but she had sustained Severus, too, through his darkness and motivated him to keep going if only to protect her. Protect her so that she in turn could, over the course of the past year, create and disseminate the curse that would infect the entirety of the Death Eaters to rot them from within using her own blood.

The blood purity they had so praised had been used against them to cleanse their entire organization.

She deserved to see the light of day of the peaceful era she had brought about.

She would see it.

Severus swore to himself she would.

* * *

_**A month later** _

Once Hermione's condition stabilized, Draco and Severus moved her to one of the Malfoy villas. Draco had made a point of putting many of them under the fidelius charm and hiding them from the main family holdings as he'd come into more and more power as he aged.

"She needs air and sunlight!" had argued Draco when he'd combed out her dry, brittle hair by hand one day. "She needs the light," he repeated.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Severus had acquiesced. In order to hide their magical signatures outside the fideliused residence—lest anyone suspect they had survived the explosion at the castle ruins—Severus had rented a car.

Draco had to be sedated within the first thirty minutes which made the journey far more pleasant for Severus, at any rate.

With Hermione, still unresponsive, installed in a sunny chair Severus rennervated Draco and walked back inside.

"Should we get her a healer?" asked Draco later. He'd never broached the topic aloud with Severus before out of respect. But as the days and weeks went on without any further improvement in her condition, he began to lose hope she would regain consciousness.

Severus watched Hermione. He always watched Hermione. He watched her and considered Draco's suggestion. He'd mulled over such thoughts of his own, yet always resisted due to the consequences.

For he knew she would be taken away and he would never see her again.

He knew he and Draco would die without a trial. Horcrux or not, someone would figure out what Draco's weakness was and find a way to punish him.

And Severus knew he would never get to see her happy.

At least while she was asleep she was at peace.

But it wasn't truly a life, was it, to spend it asleep?

"Uncle?" asked Draco, interrupting Severus' cycle of depressive reasoning. "Isn't there anything else we can do?"

What had he missed, Severus wondered for the umpteenth time as he dragged his hand through his lank hair. What was blocking the spells from working?

What was inside her that was preventing his magic from waking her?

Severus narrowed his eyes and ran a diagnostic spell over her again. The same things always popped up: the healthy, normal level brain waves, the altered teeth, her once-broken and now-healed nose, her magically blocked menses, her healed leg and ankle. Severus shook his head. Nothing was amiss. He couldn't figure out why she hadn't woken.

"What's the blockage?"

Severus glanced up at Draco's curious question.

"You always pass over it as if it's nothing, but what is it?"

Ignoring the awkward history that accompanied the question, Severus shifted slightly and answered.

"When she initially arrived at the compound, her first menses was embarrassing and uncomfortable for her. I blocked it from recurring as she didn't have access to a wand at the time to cast it herself."

Draco nodded in understanding.

Then he straightened.

"Remove it now," he said, his voice a touch curious.

Severus arched a brow. "That would be very uncomfortable for her. It's been over a year since—"

Draco shook his head and lifted a hand, his wand at the ready. "It may do nothing, I don't know. But it's a magical blockage in her body. Perhaps it's affecting her ability to fully heal. A woman's magic is different than a man's. That's what Mother says. A woman's mind is what connects her together and rules her… if Hermione isn't connected together, perhaps her magic can't…" Draco's words trailed off. "Try," he said at last.

After a moment of reflection, Severus looked back at Hermione, bathed in sunlight and clean pyjamas and utterly still outside the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

_It's no life when it's spent asleep._

… Severus lifted his wand.

* * *

_**Six months later** _

Harry looked down at the postcard, brows furrowed.

He didn't know anyone from Tahiti.

Flipping it over to check the message he was thrust back to his Hogwarts years and the precise quillmanship he would never forget.

_Freedom is beautiful, Harry._

_Love,_

_H._

So astounded was he by the message that Harry failed to notice that the postcard was magical. On the reverse, if one looked very closely, he or she would notice the couple beneath the beach umbrella held hands, their wands tucked between them as the ocean breeze ruffled their hair.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The end. Thank you for reading.


End file.
